i’ve perfected the art of selective amnesia

between the trauma of the act
and imagined tortures–
how convenient, forgetting
the excruciating gorgeous pain of your teeth
sinking into my neck,
your clothed hips against my clothed hips
in frantic friction

of sheets smelling of your skin
choking off my air flow

the magmaflush creeping from beneath your mouth
to the gaping shuddering pit in my stomach,
open wide to let lightning streak into my cunt
and melt down to the mattress

how convenient,  forgetting the taste of your name
of your sweet smoker’s breath
of the blood on the side of your tongue where you bit it
that one time

of my eyes shut fast against the darkness
and the first time submission ever sounded like victory.

between the front and back of my nightshirt
beneath my breast(s)
ached/stomped the starved marathon runner
they call my heart;

i forgot you were the starting gun.

what glorious amnesia
what saving dementia
what perfect timing
what bullshit


One comment

  1. You know how I love alliteration and “frantic friction” made me super excited. Follow that with “sheets smelling of your skin” and I was super excited.

    There’s so much emotion, like usual in your stuff. So pretty.

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