His rasping grumbles define hunger, louder than my stomach
      complains about the seven hours since breakfast,
Grunts replace the pry of a commanding tongue, eager to devour, or a feathery graze past the
      hook in my collarbone, a tender nip at the crescent of flesh that
      peeks below my white plastic earring.
Gutturals guide our transition from a stained mattress to a rickety desk where
Frenetic eyes validate the arch of my back.
Wild thrusts push us perpendicular.

Undoubtedly, my howls alert the neighbors.
If not, then the neglected crashes of my plummeting clutter or the unfaltering thud of my head
        pounding the half closed window can attest:
We mean business.

The tired floor creaks ‘nd cranks as erratic lunges hasten.
(grasping his shoulders tighter than a lone, wrinkled hand grips the pepper spray in her bag)
I brace that swelling itch, my hips shudder as it consumes, throbs, and then
Electrifies to axons from dendrites.
And he doesn’t miss a beat— more jabs **** my liver.

If only life was like
Nail polish.
Once it cracked,
All we need is a new coat.

But sadly,
We can’t cover ourselves
With more coats
Or add a new one.

But we try.
We try our best to
Cover ourselves from
The rest of the world.

We hide under covers
Of hard shells,
Making ourselves seem
Tougher than we are.

But the true is,
We’re all just
Cracked and faded
Underneath it all.