On the back of a receipt I pulled put of my pocket and stuck to your door with gum:

My dear darling,
How could you
ever believe
I would want
or settle for
anything less
than your complete
and utter
I know
what you’ve been up to.
I know
what you’re doing
right now.
I know the way
your cock gets hard
when you think of me
inside you,
when you think of
riding me.
When you get
slackjawed with want,
and you’re so consumed
you might even
confess aloud
that you want me
to fuck you
hard enough
to leave
the kind of bruises
that make it hard
to sit still.

Love and kisses,
your dirty

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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