You were five fingers in
and I thought
if I let you go any further,
I might become
the nightmare he remembered,
a crawl of fire ants
and slit throats,
the warm-skinned whore
who couldn’t let him falter.
You wanted to do it
all by yourself.
I screamed for you.
In the middle of the day.
Uncovered.
I did more
than let you go.
I pushed you away.
I should’ve kept you
inside me,
let you do
exactly what we both wanted;
I’d have died, before now,
killed myself to become real,
but it would’ve been better
than living alone.
