Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark

It was sharp.
It was sweet.
It was good.

A tattoo, pounding on flesh.
Staccato punctuation.
The never knowing, of it.
Of where it would land.
Here. Or there.
Here. Or there.
Surely not - there.
NOT THERE!
You scream in your mind.
Can't take any more - THERE.
The river of desire runs,
runs indeed.
Lava HOT.
The endless dripping.
The flesh beyond sensitive.

Some times a volley of thumps.
Some times a hollow echo.
Some times a whistling through the air.

Still, it falls.
Object after object after object.
Falling on the straining,
squirming flesh.

But your screams muffled,
both inside & outside
of your mind.

Your hand gives up
lifts to hold up
the sign
for
ONE.

And so it stops.

You slowly shudder
as yet another
release
hits you.

You are toast.
Done
like
dinner.

Only  one thought remains,
that you think
to yourself.

It was sharp.
It was sweet.
It was good.

***