I will not be happy
until I have your hair in my closed fist
pulled away from your scalp
like bandages to wounded thoughts.
I will not be happy
using words to say
what my body has
always said better.
I am wearing a
poorly fit mask
every time we bed and I
play you slow and cool like
an unfamiliar bicycle or
something brand new and liable
to be the death of
one or both of us.
I will not be happy
without demarcating
the edges of your envelope
with drops of your blood,
sweat, tears, and safe words
unheeded. If you thought
for a span of seconds
that I was not looking
for a whipping toy
I am sorry for you.
Never mind the privates,
your skin is what will be blue, and
eye blacked. Though I am
flattered you would choose
to fly my airy lines,
you should know
There is no such thing as a free lunch,
hunched body to a body,
when I am done you will wish
I buried you, calm and quiet, like Gotti,
but I am not a complete super villain
and I will never leave you
for dead
because what am I without you?
A lush with an affinity?
A mirror with clouded infinities?
We could never be together
for blood and razor wired history
but I can and do love
you with the me
that can and does ask nothing
farther than set boundaries,
but if you have testicle and testosterone,
marrow and muscle enough,
to step into the circle
marked with arrow and raw intestine clutched
know that I will not be happy
until I rip your skin away
and with my bared teeth
your heart touch.
