scylla

I am the faces that you flee
the many to your single one:
it boils down to sex as mystery

I hunger but do not beckon
wholly of many holes
too many for you to reckon

with yet you try, all of you,
to fill me thrill me kill me,
weeping as I chew your muscles into

strips of red and bone
as you pass by in your mighty ships
in an odyssey to chart the unknown.

a bit of advice: when you plan
a voyage of discovery be aware
of the monsters within the span

of your desire's latitude;
for I will find and devour you
and bask in your terrified gratitude

or you can choose to flee
the deep roiling emotions
engendered by the fathomless sea

and say sex always has victims
that it was a simple matter
of you or me