Autoerotic Asphyxia

I was soaking through the sheets,
in a sort of feral heat,
when you crawled over me
and grabbed
my delicate throat
with your big hand.
I think we both
liked the way
it looked.

I was damn near humping your leg
with a thrill of fear
over this fun little choke-fuck,
so fucking eager,
so fucking ready
that every part of me,
save my mouth
begged you to
make it last,
and make it now.

You positioned me
like fuck doll with a neck cramp,
my head lay off the bed
looking upside-down at the world.

My nipples scraped
at your face, and
shamelessly asked to be
twisted, or bitten,
or acknowledged in any way.

But you replaced your hand
with a piano wire garrote,
and twisted so hard it
cut;
it
bled.

I sighed into the moment,
coming hard as soon as
I understood
your intentions.
(your real intentions)
relaxing as my body fought
the inevitable.

You reverently dipped your
lips at the little hollow at
my throat,
where rivulets of blood from
the cutting
piano wire
collected,
staining your mouth
red
like a cherry candy.

Head upside down,
hands beating against the sheets
in an unmeasured staccato
I could only imagine you
painting bloody kisses
down the long planes of my stomach
until my toes dug into the
covers
and your
tongue etched
my final
attempt to
find  

breath,

my final  
attempt to
find
god.