Morning glory? Head down. Doesn't explain desire; these streets, once mine, in terror in pain, in everything that reminds me not to feel so fucking vain. Only now I pound them thinking about pounding you. Again. Now I pound them thinking about fucking. Fucking about with that tab. That tab that's always open. The one that's not supposed to be. I woke up thinking around edges. I woke up thinking this beat butts against that beat butting against free fall flowing. She says something that makes me feel really fucking small. I cringe: shrinking. I can't explain what it was and that hurts, it hurts when she sees me. So I build a labyrinth and a tower. I am doing all I can to keep her trapped in desire. I am doing everything I can.

I don't know what to feel when I'm not around her.

I'm so glad I don't love you anymore.

I'm so glad I stopped loving you.

I'm so glad I don't love you.

I'm so glad.

I stopped.

How do I stop loving you?

Screaming, seams broken in the darkness, gory, glory, gory hole, come again and again allowing intoxicating tease of anal titillation, letting a fear of reaching...not worry. More vulnerable about all that penetration and what it might lead to.

Two wet buttocks.

Two tight buttocks.

Two pert buttocks.

Two tight buttocks.

Turn her over.

Sat on top of the refrigerator it contains what I want to see...packer tucked head high between thighs. Damp desire and that emoji fucks my pain away every time I see her face. Objective, subjective, popping, gooping, sucking, swirling, thirsting. Weakened hand cramping, nothing inside wants to stop work keeps me going, gives me intention, purpose. Climaxing her is an endurance test I haven't trained for. Lactic acid lurks in darkened crevices, I lessen, she lessens, I learn, she comes. In the nothing I see her and not me stained in my disdain. The silence contains all I need it to. I float away from this body. Head tucked, limbs numb, lips licked, stomach turned, head confirms: connection.

When I'm with you the noise of all that maybe, the what if, the could it be, goes. When I'm with you I understand intention. Intent, connection. That when I'm with you all I want is there to not be an end. When I'm with you I want and I want and I want. I wasn't sure if we could be friends.

Gory, glory, gory hole.

Gory, glory, gory hole.

Gory, glory, gory hole.

Gory, glory, gory hole.

Your miniskirt and laced bra line my door, boxers drawl among binders I muttered 'good luck' to your pull, and we laughed. And we laughed together as I turned out the light. Because we're here and I guess it feels like we weren't maybe going to be. But now we are I'm glad. I'm glad that I felt all that alone. So that when we fuck and it feels like...It feels like...I'll tell you later.