A Revisit Mutilated

Somewhere in the middle, I got to have my fantasy. Its brief like most men and all I do is sit.

After he takes off all his clothes, I say no.

And you see, maybe the problem was, I wanted to teach him color theory with my mouth.

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I had a dream last night in which I considered the morning, afternoon and night of a bullet as it traveled on the way to its destination.

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Last night, all I knew were the bloodstains on my pillow and how difficult it was to fall back asleep.

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I’ve had my anger, my repulsion, my jealousy. I’ve mourned and celebrated you. You are the story I love to tell. The story necessary for those who want to know me. And in all of our destruction, we’ve never destroyed each other.

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So the pressure, followed by the relief, my ability to disappear just like you. But now, pressing, like teeth against skin, sinking deeper, pain masked by the dance of the tongue. Deeper, begging to bruise... do you bruise?

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Eager enthusiasm is my dis-ease.