i want to taste your tongue
i want every inch of you inside me
in any way possible
i don’t care what i have to do to get it
i want
to
feel
that
way
again
when you were under me
and i had nothing to
hold on
to
my arms out in the air
and my throat
finding itself
speechless
i want you.
over and over.
endlessly.
and forever.
disconnected.
i walked in the sunshine today. i thought that would surprise you. you know how much i hate sunshine. i thought about myself the entire time. i thought about me on top of you. i thought about how much you must be thinking about me. disgusting, isn’t it? the older i get the more open i am about my vanity. why is that?
i get attention. often. red hair, green eyes. it happens. but i never act on it. ever. well, apart from you. usually the attention is enough for me. a good eye-fucking is enough for me. i know, i’m charming.
i couldn’t be dirtier if i tried. i don’t think nice things know how to come out of my mouth. unless someone would prise it open and drag them out by force.
by force. that reminds me.
i want your hands around my throat again. i want you pressed against me. i want your tongue against my skin. i want your smell on me.
i don’t feel bad for thinking this. feeling this. i don’t think i should. i think i should have another cigarette. maybe a coffee. i like the idea of drinking black coffee..it sounds so sophisticated. but i always find it so bitter. even with three sugars. you know i have to sugar everything, don’t you? you know i can’t handle anything but pure sweetness.
what do I do when
all I can
think of is
clothes
off
skin
bones
lips
a warm pink tongue.
or how much I
need knees
- pressed
into the ground
and
strong hands
around my
throat.
my pillow
overturned
your spine
bent back
two
fingers
a deep
throat
my mouth
is numb
my chest
feels crushed
you have no idea
how much i want you to -
Love is not a profession
genteel or otherwise
sex is not dentistry
the slick filling of aches and cavities
you are not my doctor
you are not my cure,
nobody has that
power, you are merely a fellow/traveller
Give up this medical concern,
buttoned, attentive,
permit yourself anger
and permit me mine
which needs neither
your approval nor your suprise
which does not need to be made legal
which is not against a disease
but against you,
which does not need to be understood
or washed or cauterized,
which needs instead
to be said and said.
Permit me the present tense.
- Margaret Atwood
this. I cannot put into words how much this speaks to me, is me, right now.
I just don’t know what to do with myself.
always down at this time of year. always sad, wanting to hide under the covers all day.. take long baths and just try to forget everything. everyone. every single person I left behind. the ones I can’t be around. the ones I don’t have the guts, the heart, to be around.
ghosts. just ghosts and mistakes. year after year.
rainy afternoons.
i found a coffee shop that sells the coffee we used to drink when we walked through the market on saturday mornings. it tastes like hangovers. it reminds me of your bed. your second hand sofa. digging around our pockets to find at least one cigarette. so many things i thought i’d forgotten came running back to me over one cup of coffee.
it’s funny how i can sometimes forget i have a fairy tattooed on my back but can’t seem to forget you.
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