Mercy

He’s fine with his leaning framehe’s mine, like something out of a dreamlike a vintage wine that’s been but a sample awayHis hands bare on my ample hipshis stare does not waver, ignitingthe walls of my inside quivertrembling with tensionin anticipation for the liaisonto rumble and bumbleLost in my cloud of honeyed rainwith him, who comes forth reigning fireinto the dry wood of my wallsHe would ply openpoisoned sweetnesswith everlasting mercy,and all my 3 wishes would be milked ASAPfor a zap from his awakening genieMy remedy, my amnesiaI am the wine. He sips and laps and drinks me inAs though I could assuage his thirst when he finally dipsTry as hard I mightHe plunges into my throbbing wallsmercy asideAnd yet my heart excuses himI care not now if he wounds meI no longer look for mercy