Blame It On.

It’s comfortable the way our cunts are magnetized and when I close my eyes I can feel you breathe on my neck. This is how we observe our own comfort, slurred sly smiles and pantomime fuckings we can’t regret. Lay me down like a waterfall. Lover, this is truth we’re touching, some parts of us we’re not able to hide at all. You’re crisp under my fingertips like sheets and our lips are bitten as if to signal to your God that we remember tasting is forbidden and punishment can be dealt through offspring, so let’s keep our hands clean in figurative and literal ways. Just roll your body off mine so we can laugh off this joke. Oh, did you think this meant anything? I clearly misspoke; we are just hilarious confusion because either way we’re losing and I’d rather be  gone without knowing about you.


From the collection “Ladykilled and Manhandled”


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