We step away and then, you close the door (you always knew how to close)
The palm of your hand (I) shut(s) my eyes and I imagine you must be thinking that my head is spinning only, it’s not.
I’m tired this time around and all that we’ve had, in cups, in pantomimes, in black bottles at the back of your grandfather’s closet, is beginning to weigh me down. I am an anchor lightly kissing the bottom of an abyss in a sea. But you don’t swim and I know you never will.
No, my head isn’t spinning, but the world is.
Before, I thought it ceased to halt when I found myself alone with you in that enclosure I craved from the back of my throat.
I was possessive of your presence without good reason. Never had any good reason and here again, I’m without it but I no longer allow myself the delusion of believing in the immortal exceptionalism that I once painted on your face.
The auto-intoxication has stopped.
We step away and you engage my mouth once more. It has never been the way I’ve wanted. I gave you permission and you close the door. (I am now closing my eyes).
I was blind now I ignore the way this body has never been more than a robust instrument. I use it as such. You dismiss my thoughts, that is your mistake.
Your hand on the back of my neck, pulling down to devour. We always speak of *** as in hunting terms. A predator hunts his prey. The prey traps her meal. But I no longer resist and I admit that violence no longer shines. It is nothing and makes for one hell of a drowsy exchange.
You disrobe me, these mechanics are boring. The choreography of two relative strangers (I hardly know you in the end, we don’t talk) moving their bodies in a badly needed rhythm. Pure imagination. We dance for the other without listening and you step on my toes. I crave the scratching halt of the song.
Your tongue is metallic. This has been ugly since day one. I shut my eyes, my head not spinning, and its only now that I see. I no longer wish to force stimulation through the filter of my body.