Once
upon a time that has been and yet thrusts its presence into my everyday.
Whiskey breathed, I proclaimed my martyrdom---they were crucifying me at the
hand of a rather dramatic allegory that no one ever even bothers to
remember. He laughs an arrogant
laugh, I do not try very hard to ignore how wet my cunt gets. I want him to
penetrate me to know me to punish me to set me free to tie me up to pull my
skin off to devour and resurrect my cunt.
I
sit topless on a porch, he in a busted rocking chair. Smell of cheap tobacco I
tell him I underestimate my sadist impulse. He speaks quietly. All along the
rhythmic orgasmic repetition that are nights into days---I wanted to strip him
bare to lay him out. To get under through
around the skin with its closed pores and knowing smile. We sit together
stripped.
Some
time ago that is both yesterday and today---his voice speaks through a phone, distant
and present; slurred and stern and familiar----hooking my cunt making me blush.
