I’ve never been clearer than my sweat. Remove the base of thinking and exchange, all that the other person feels. I think I know you in this moment, as if it’s cute with my hands tied to the floor, unable resist the affection taking place inside me.

You victim of love,
your fits of distance.

I’ll carry my own realist when
I can’t bring myself to use you so well.

I’ll carry these beliefs wrapped in shells
shoved deep into the elements of my pockets.

The walls of his body are seized with drones. He’s gagging on the physical, emotionally-charged struggle between fucking and eating as he spits possibility in my face. Power inequalities are not based on the dull sides of his flesh, they are based in his mouth.

I think you, you, you..
vulnerability scares your selves.

Have you had enough of me yet?

I have enough to keep him,
his hand is flush to my head,
my head is flush to the floor

Survive! (if it’s not a trigger
in his hand
on my head)

A soldier will protect his throat from any real cries of empathy. I take discomfort in not letting go of thinking of violent experiences.