My Soul's Tantric Sexual Acrobatics

And if I were to write poetry, would it move your soul to heavenly heights of ecstasy?
To orgasm?
Would such words cut you, deep, gory and bloody to the very depths of your soul?

These words, would they haunt you at night like a disembodied voice from a long dead lover which you have hidden from the world in the sanctum sanctorum of the deepest recesses of your mind?

Would you bleed if I tell you...
Would these words be like the scalpel that cuts through the corneas of your eyes?

Mere words, these are not.
Images from my soul, perhaps they are.

Like a flame dancing in the wind on a moonless night, these words are.
Temporal, fleeting, fragile.
It only titillates, leaving you slightly distressed and out of breath.

Words, these words, my words...
Tantric Sexual Acrobatics of my soul.
Perversity in words.
Perverse.
Salacious.

How long have I longed to strangle you with these words?
Words cutting deep into your throat, like the piano string I have coiled tightly against your ivory neck.
To make you climax,
Or to make you faint in horror.

Strip for me while I throttle you with my words
Strip.

In the end, you will see that these words can leave bruises...
And even cut flesh.

Bleed.

Bleed as these words consume your soul, your spirit,
Otherwise, it shall consume my very own.