What are you doing, he asks. The drone of planes.
He’s several states away.
This is between my dick and your pussy, he writes.
I’m a confessional poet.
I can’t keep secrets but I can’t keep my pants on, either.
I can’t fucking lose you, I tell him.
Your words make my pussy throb.
Train roars by, dogs bark, I’m sweating in this
piece of shit rent house with scary stained carpet.
He tells me to take off my clothes, turn on the Rabbit.
I moan into his ear. The buzzing of the hot pink vibrator.
My clitoris aches for his mouth.
My legs want to kill him like snakes that won’t let go.
Clawing his back with my dirty fingernails, telling him
It’s yours it’s yours it’s yours it’s YOURS.
He cannot smell me.
I cannot taste him.
Ours is a strange marriage, a kind of manic feed.
I don’t understand it, either.