I adore it, I need it. I bow and paw. I leak all over
the sheets just thinking about it—Ooh let me worship your
beautiful ass!
Earlier, I told her I loved her. I told her she
was so gloriously dark.
. . .
It’s Saturday night. The slick of
softened water clings to our skins.
Our bathroom is all black
tile and black grout, black faucets, obsidian backsplash, with
black lights and black towels, black soap.
She replied that
she liked me because I’m dark too.
. . .
Every time I think it has
settled, it fizzles up again, monstrous phallus silos dotting
the seeded fields.
What is it exactly, that announces itself
so obscenely, like Nocturne in E flat major, at half speed and
inverted, overdriven and filtered through a resonator, blasting
from a loudspeaker?
It’s true, I can’t look right at it or it
blurs defensively and stings me back into oblivion. And I’m so
fucking tired of oblivion.
. . .
Take me out into the woods to-
night. Tie me to a tree so it’s rough bark tears into my back.
Tease me, use me, pleasure me to ecstasy.
. . .
What does it take
to feel alive again? I’ve been numb so long I can’t remember.
She’s blacked out in the bathroom again, slumped against
the shower’s dark tinted glass. I push the door open, lift her
up, hold her until she comes to.
It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve
got you. I’ve got you.