Always when I rise to go, your eyes blaze out from a face gone wickedly pale. Edna St. Vincent Millay
We’re going to play a game.
There are problems in your life
that can’t be solved.
Problems that worry away at you.
I will lie face down
and you write them on my back,
spell them out with your finger
and let me be the one
to speak them between us.
Let me be the one to carry them
on my back, in your place.
Empty yourself in me.
Just Fuck Me
Don’t be afraid to hurt me.
I know you worry. Please don’t. I’m not as fragile as you think.
Don’t tug my hair. Grab it. Force me to my knees with your hands in my hair wrapped in a fist. Pull hard. Make my eyes water.
Don’t graze your teeth along my skin. Devour me. Bite down until I cry out. Then do it again.
Don’t caress my throat. I want to feel your fingers wrap tightly around it. Feel my pulse hammer into your palm. Feel the breath short in my chest and that little bit of panic set in.
Don’t nudge my knees apart. Move them like they’re yours to spread. With intention. With possession.
Don’t hold my hands. I want to feel your strong grip around my wrists. Use all your weight. Make me lie still.
I want it to still hurt tomorrow.
I want to see the bruises. The welts. The handprints.
Don’t ask me if I’m ok.
I need to let go and not think.
I need you to make me yours.
Let my body answer for me with each shudder and moan. With the pool of wetness between my thighs.
These are the things I can’t control. I don’t want to control. That’s the point.
Just fuck me.
I am not falling out of love with you.
I am crawling,
clawing my way out.
It is not inevitable, easy or quick;
it is forced and trying
and might take the rest of my days
and all of my strength.
It’s fighting every fiber of my being
as you pull me in,
I am not falling,
I am trying to fly,
but I’ve got no wings and I don’t know how.