s'amo worship

 

It’s almost midnight again, and alas—

I want to love you like a dog would its master,

like a bee would a flower,

like Hyperion flying endlessly, knowing it will never reach the sun.

Let me worship you—like stars adore the moon;

like flies swarm a corpse;

like Sisyphus, doomed never to crest the hilltop.

An endless worship that even Mekoddishkem must envy.

But, alas, I don’t know—

I’m lost in confusion.

My love, my love,

it blinds me, deforming all into reptilian amoebas.

I want you; I would drink poison if it meant I taste you.

I’m apathetic, as calm as a lake in winter,

yet my soul is restless—a burning in Jahannam.

My heart aches; raw winds sweep leaves to the ocean,

lost in endless, rusty cold water.

I love your smile,

your radiant allure,

your soft skin,

your hands that feel like an infant’s,

your brown almond eyes.

What do you hunger for?

A mountain made of diamonds, a million stars,

the entire ocean—or a single apple.

Tell me your need, and I’ll be the hand that feeds it,

the map that leads you there.

I need your love;

my mouth upon you:

french kisses, juicy as peaches.

Let my lips roam your feet, please.

Your chest is a pair of rosebuds,

soft enough to fit in my prayer.

I need the white ameita they provide,

for only it can quench my thirst.

Nipples like twin suns rising, dark as rubbed cocoa.

Let me sit on a throne for you;

I’ll starve until you feed me your lightning—

until you weep your salts and sugars,

and I swallow your heaven like a forgiven sinner.

Let me die between your thighs; my last breath

will thank you for the honor.

Such unholy love—your spell coiled around my ribs.

I don’t care, for perhaps I ache only because

you mirror my hunger back to me:

a double‑edged devotion.

I imagine you:

not Aphrodite in pearl‑light,

not Lilith with serpent pride,

but something fiercer—

a goddess who silences hell’s wails

when she treads its corridors,

her beauty so vast the damned forget their torment

to kneel, weeping at the miracle of you.