I am the berry-red smear
over your lips and
between your legs.
I am the salt musk
behind your ear and
between your legs.
I am the defiance in her eyes.
I am the acceptance in his heart.
I am the fury.
I am the rapture.
I am you when you take
a fistful of your wife’s hair
and put your lips to her throat,
your hard cock between her legs.
I am your husband when you bend him
over the kitchen table
and fuck him from behind.
I am the ties that bind.
I am the blade that cleaves.
I am the disease
that takes your child.
I am the breath
that fills you for years
until you are long past wishing
for death.
Never ever change, Jones. You are a brutal force of grandeur.
Thank you, Lewin. I’m sure I’ll change — but I hope mostly for the better.
Just read this again… feral.
Good. Felt like a struggle to put it down, though. Hope it sounds coherent.
It does, no worries there.