the taste, familiar…

cut adrift,
in the spillage of my arousal,
i feel i am capsizing.
all i can taste is blood –
blood in my mouth
blood on my fingertips;
as you bite
and masticate
on my bottom lip.
salt on the skin, it burns
and stings.

a kiss smeared on my open wound – to dulcify
only fuels the fire.
your fingers, like shards of glass,
cut to the quick.
the pain, an exquisite flame,
flickers and ignites


i lick the brine
from your cupid’s bow
– the taste, familiar
as, from beneath the waves,
you surface
clenched, in my vice.
there is no space between this time.
the air is taut, stretched,
as flesh is splayed, played.

the whip, your cruel mistress,
hisses, curls and snatches
as she coils around you, splitting skin.
pain, like hunger, pangs
in a lust-fuelled delirium.

[bad.bad.bad boy.
– i want you gagged and bound
shy, shy awkward boy.
– i have you. lost and found.
come. come.
i am tired of waiting.
i am tired of wanting.
come. come.
tell me what you want.
tell me how you like it.
bad. bad. bad boy wants to fuck?
tell me what you want.
tell me how you need it.]

i am tired of waiting and
swimming in the shallows of gentle conversation and pleasantries.
i want the depths of your ocean
your shifting tide –
the rise and fall
the swell and dissipation
i am tired of anticipation.

[tell me what you want.
tell me how you want it.]

lovers, knotted
held fast
held inside
held below, and
going down, you
drink in thirsty gulps
salt. sweet. balsamic nectar
from the deep-throat
of this flower…
this hungry, carnivorous flower
this slave to you
this slave to you and your wrists
and the twists of your fingers…
this slave to you, my master

a slave to you – my beautiful narcotic
my flailing junkie arms – open
to encircle you
to track you and bring you home.
all the way home.
like a gunshot.

i am a slave to you
and your skilful hands
with telepathic fingers.
as you can see, i have stripped you of light
but you can still see inside:
by touch
by taste
by chance
by touch
by knowing
by sensing
by feeling
by smell, taste what i cannot hide.


cut adrift
no need for means of navigation,
this map, this body, is laid out before you.
this map of simple lines, uncomplicated,
will guide you.
let me show you.
let me take the helm.
you, at my mercy, are subjugated
as wave upon breaking wave crashes upon you.

by what means, without navigation, did we arrive here?
by gravitation?
or force majeure?
i find myself cut adrift,
enslaved to this untimely synchronicity.
enslaved to this here and now
where timing is everything.
i am tired of waiting.
i need you.
i need you to prove to me that time exists.
the past, the present, the future coexist.
kiss. kiss. kiss.
kiss. like glue.
kiss. friction.
kiss. lubricity.
cut adrift
in this vessel
this bed
this body – an open map to trace



on rope raw wrists, a kiss
i suck your blood.
you wince –
and the curl of your snarl, your sardonic smile,
echoes my laughter.
i bite your wrist.
no snarl, no laughter, no sardonic wit
only the sharp crack of a whip.
her cutting remark excites you.
i feel your rising tide and ride
the crest of that wave.
your face, beaded with sweat
your legs, shaking.
i want to abuse you.

[tell me what you want
tell me how you want to fuck
don’t be shy
shy awkward boy
you can do what you want to me
i want you
but i am tired of waiting
and i am tired of wanting]

cut adrift,
i want to ride wave upon wave
feel them break over you
wave upon endless wave
to swallow you, soak you
grind you
– a perpetual motion –
like waves of the ocean lick the shore.
i am your junked up whore
craving you
craving more
craving your narcotic core

cut adrift
– with flesh wounds, hints and allegations
cut adrift
i am tired of anticipation
cut adrift
– we can fuel this fire
and feast like panthers
in this vessel
this hotel room
this unmade bed
this fantastically depraved world inside my head.

[come. come. tell me what you want. don’t be shy.]

cut adrift,
by your merciless
mercurial push and pull.
by strange gravitation
or beautiful collision.
i wait. i watch. i listen.
i am tired of waiting.
torturous hour upon hour,
tide after rising tide.
i am at your mercy,
anchored only by the weight of my reflection in your eyes.
your stare.
your undertow.
a beautiful collision
like the crack of a whip
you have me….

[tell me what you want.
tell me how you like it.
tell me how you need it
because you have me…]

cut adrift,
in the spillage of my arousal, i am capsizing.

(c) Kat McDonald 2010


5 thoughts on “spillage

  1. Bloody hell! Yes please! & can I live your life for just one night? Ok, I agree with your other piece, so just one year 😀


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