On slow days, I want you bitter. I want your acrid taste, your tongue thick and soft in my mouth. I want your stoic calm, your rise and fall, your collapse. I want all that rushes and pools beneath your skin.
We strip in silence, a tangled mess of limbs and shirts and sheets. Press together, don’t bother to conceal our desperation. We seek warmth.
Our hearts don’t race. There is no alarm, no fire. Rather, we are a pit of spite; we grope each other’s nerves, gnaw our weaknesses. We bring our grief to pour as thudded blooms and silent tears.
Your hands grip my waist, I gnash my teeth at you and earn a slap. It’s slow, but hard. We are hard. Against the wall you thumb my clit; I feel myself open for you. Fingers, more of them, your fist. One on my throat, one in my cunt. You break me down. I take you, begin to welcome you. With each twist and thrust we reach for each other. Find shelter, find solace.
Your forehead rests between my shoulder blades, hot breath washes down my spine. I press against you. We relax, melt together once more.