You are refusing something you shouldn’t
and the reasons are stupid

Why do we have to be loud
about a thing
that will break anyway?
Can we just get there
quietly
instead?

When I make you turn around it’s for your own good
Cum is whatever we want it to be
as long as it fills you

You are waiting for a disaster
and I’m watching the sky
and counting stars

You are draped over the couch
and you are still there when I come back
with my hands full

Your arms behind your back, fists gripping one another
I hardly have to hold them anymore

I left a mark so perfect
when you get home you’ll look at it in the mirror
and you’ll know which one
I’m talking about

Do we love this
or do we hate it?

I like to feel like God when I am fucking you
I know this is a problem
which is why I don’t see my therapist anymore
but I see you all the time

You were right about something
and it mattered
for a little while
but not anymore

I break your skin for my pleasure
and you are grateful

How many Saturdays (39 Saturdays)
of me bringing you water before you come back for air
and you fixing your hair in the second bathroom
where I found your toothbrush in the trash can
before we find out something is wrong?

I hate looking at chains without you in them
What have we done
except ruining pristine

I still haven’t washed the sheets
that’s so unlike me

But so is this bed
without you

You are lying for no reason and it perplexes you
but not enough to tell the truth

The dress I bought you for Christmas is still in my closet
what do you want me to do with it?

I was thinking about a poem called “Lupe”
and the last three lines I always get stuck on

Sorry about the spit in your hair
I guess I missed your mouth

This is the part of you I want to suck, she said to me
one night.
What, Lupe? Your heart.*

*From “Lupe” by Roberto Bolaño