lavender martini

kissing is gross but i still indulge

i’m not sure what’s wrong, he keeps asking,

i don’t even know myself,

i cannot help but

stare, his face contorts sharply;

it’s so soft, the expressions, sharp and soft,

that is what it feels like when he’s inside of me.

i’m so focused on his face,

i cannot multitask

when i shift focus, i realize it hurts

his eyes close, cross, roll; sporadically like

bad radio service but

that’s consistent, at least, and i need that.

i’m sideways, partly, hanging off the couch,

he asked so nicely,

and he never asks, so i know he really wanted it.

i’m thinking about dinner, how i had a

lavender martini, prosciutto on a panini and fries

i enjoy being tipsy with him, hot and bothered

the lust melted off his body like a thick fog, invisible pillows of desire

i felt it, i feel him, his thoughts

he feels mine too, he’s asking if i want to stop

i say no because he asked so nicely.

the tv has been on the entire time, and if i shift focus,

i may be able to catch the conflict resolution despite

feeling the walls tearing. i feel it.

i feel my womanhood dripping down his shaft.

he loves it.