my secret desires

Midnight skin-blanketing

Pills litter cheap polyester fibers under my soles

Fucking through flaws

Bodies wet, clinging supple monsoon

Shag feelings carpeting over the inner raw

Woven into me

Closer than marrow and lacing nerve

When your cracks are aching, you can sleep in my being

All she wants is someone to make her soul spill out

Like an inkwell knocked from the writing desk

Behind the plaid-skirt tousles and eyelash flutters

Behind every hair-flip…

There’s a smaller “her”

And she’ll never tell you that secret

You would have to kill me to take her from me. She was mine. Fucking mine. A precious treasure.

The desire to envelop her, to overcome her, to destroy her until she was miraculously speaking new languages was fervid.

She always came so hard whenever her breath was labored behind the strength of my hand; whenever her neck and head were under my authoritative restraint… and it was going to happen. Right fucking now. And she would thank me for the privilege.

Her stress and her anxiety would vanish, killed by the ‘little death’… the remnants of which would flow against my cock, gush onto my hips and trickle like rain down my thighs and calves.

I’m going to pull your hair, spank your ass and fuck you however I wish. You’re going to be a quivering weepy mess and you will feel the compulsion to call me sir. Don’t fight it.

After we’ve cum and cum and cum again, I’m going to give you a bath. I will wash your hair and scrub every inch of the flesh I have sullied. Then I will towel you off, lotion your entire body and dress you in one of my button-down shirts.

Reading her goosebumps like braille

Wanton for touch, I’m a fuse

Deafening explosions and endless white noise

Taking a breath at the first sign of light

Swollen and quivering, we’re drenched in a dream

“You are of infinite worth.”