The cage of me is camouflaged.
A life raft. A fire escape.
As if everything was simultaneously
burning and soaked.
Tools for indulgences.
I want our howling intertwined bodies.
Your holy hands … completely exposed.
I want your staring down the barrel of my shame
and still reaching – out and into me.
Only then might I reject requests for quiet,
embodied, and clean.
I am your distasteful mound of flesh.
All nerves and blood and mouth.
I am made of such beautiful and foul things.
The smooth arch of a back ravaged by nail marks and sweat.
Flushed cheeks and gritted teeth.
Clenched muscles before blissful release.
Blazing and drenched.