sometimes i dream of violent sex
hands grasping hands, lungs, chests
the inside of everything forcing its way out
the deep, gut-wrenching satisfaction
the safeness of trusting someone to use me well
validation in every strangled moan
the kind of thing we never did, because
you were too kind to let me try
the pulsating, throbbing articulation of your words
deep in the night, far beyond the point at which i knew--
tomorrow will be our last--
and we will never try to force ourselves into each other
not ever again.
so that is where i'm left, miles
from land. a buoy
a boy
a strange,
tepid man.
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