And I'd grown to love his hands on mine

He never asked permission for anything
And he didn't apologize either
He'd snake his hand between silky strands of tussled hair
and pull until I couldn't breathe

he demanded a woman before him; beneath him
told me to be better, move better
respond better to him

he fucked me like he knew he deserved me
and honestly who was I to tell him different?
he probably did

but see, I deserved him too
every inch of him, every moan, every thrust
every bead of sweat that dripped down from his forehead
and landed somewhere amidst the slopes and curves and canvas of my skin
I deserved his focus, his dedication, the persistence he put into making me cum
I needed to be pleased, spent, kneaded at his hand
I fucked him like I was entitled to everything he had
and I was ... God, I really was

     he knew good girls deserved to be touched too


Post a Comment

© touché • a poet's visual journal. Design by FCD.