You call and ask if I’m free tonight, “…a long shot, I know.”
I’ve just been fucked like a bitch by my love as three others watched and came, their come swirling together, homogenizing in a pool at the small of my back.
I do not return your call.
I return to our bed where life is still and time is heavy haze, where cunt swallows cock. I breathe the air from his mouth, making it mine. When he dies I will pull his last breath deep inside me, imprisoning his soul within my ribcage.
He fits me. Loves me.
Quietly rocking, writhing, bending, pulling, stretching, gasping, squirming. Content. Senza voce.
I do not love you, because when we fuck, I am discontented. Impatient. Growling.
When we fuck, my hand does not move to your cheek, tracing its thumb across your brow. You do not shut your eyes and turn into it, kissing my palm.
Because you do not love me.