Show me your tongue, and I will be your wretched feast.
Will writhe beneath your heated breath.
Claim your dominion, like a god, a king, a priest.
Inside that killing mouth, I will find my little death.
Crush this brittle shell, release the salt, the sweet,
the quivering clam, the bearded mussel.
One talon’s flick could shuck this slippery meat—
this rosy scallop, this oyster ripe with pearls.
Do I delight you? Have you learned to crave
my scent—that sticky brine, that heady brew?
Oh, am I drunk with lust or only brave
to follow, fall under, fall open for you?
I’ll bear the pain to come. I’ll take the risk,
for I’ve never known desire as sharp as this.
What is this and why is it so filthy? you may be asking if you've just stumbled onto this blog mid-project. It's a fair question. We're writing a crown of sonnets, friends. Is a crown of sonnets as pretentious as it sounds. Absolutely, yes it is. But this particular crown is dino-erotica, so we're really dumbing it down. We're making sonnets accessible, aren't we? Just kidding. We're just fucking around (with dinosaurs) but the puzzle of the sonnet form is proving to be the exact distraction I've been needing for the past many months when in truth my deepest, most treasured fantasies are not even remotely sexual and revolve pretty fixedly around the figure of Robert Mueller. Anyway, if you're just joining us and need some context, you might want to visit this post. And to read the first sonnet in the crown, go here.
Tune in next week for sonnet III. Will it be even dirtier? Who knows! I haven't written it yet. I also haven't given this crown a title. Let's crowdsource one. You can offer your suggestions in the comments though I'll see them much faster if you share them on Twitter. If you aren't hanging out with me on Twitter yet, why not? @lizkay09