#homara

when she spits at you in her faraway language

the words are sweet as sugar, soft as

her skin, but there is

a coarse undertone to her voice.

you can taste it on her tongue

and see it in the way she sneers

when she yanks your ponytail hard enough

to hear you yelp

and then kiss you till you can’t breathe.

sometimes kissing you

isn’t enough to stop your breath

from rushing between your lips        

and she has to crush your throat

with her slender fingers

to make you shut up, make you submit

make you live to feel her against you.

the hatred you have for her

(and for this void inside you she seems to fill)

runs black as the pitch you

sometimes use to seal your         

metallic shells of models that were

once alive and bursting.

but something merciful inside you

thinks that things might not

have had to turn out this way

maybe somewhere in this wide

twisting labyrinth of time and fate

out there in paradox space

she could fill the void inside you

with deep red

other than the kind that

she bleeds when you bite and

sting and

try to fight back against

her.

your mistress

your rustblood superior.