inlandfempire

This isn't it. I thought it would be like having a boned pillow.

I saw myself turning over and over in lust like sheets in a dryer.

My style was reckless, wool dry. Other than mine there were little or no arms.

I could whisper anything into an implied ear and praise would rise like a colorless, scentless gas. Then I would breathe to sleep.

But my lover moves. And my lips grow numb as rubber before I capture half the ass that rose like Atlantis from my dreams.

I try to get his shoulder blade between my teeth. He complains, pillow in his mouth. Doesn't mean it. Means it.

He rolls onto his back, face raw and wet as fat, like it has been shaken from nightmares. I don't know how to please this face.

Tomorrow when he has made breakfast and gone, I will sweep the mound of porno from my closet, put a match to its lies.