you were between my legs,
and you saw me —
not the man
I pretend to be,
but just me.
“Just look
at how wet you are for me,”
you said.
It was one of the only times
I felt like it was us making love,
and not a hundred thousand lies
between us.
I wept in your arms.

I doubt you remember.

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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