The stickiness of skin intrigues me

How cold it was that winter and yet
how often we found ourselves clinging
Beads of sweat against furrowed foreheads
How we wished for something greater
Calling out names we never really wanted
The exchange of souls that were only ever
sent as distractions; we fell prey

He had wanted her that summer but his
heart just wasn’t in it
He needed a woman to tear him down
So he could in turn tear her down
Punishment for all the women who’d wronged him
How he loathed them inexplicably

His hands didn’t know what to do with a woman
whose spine sat of steel; cool at the touch
soft at the core; it made him hard to think of
But he got off on broken women who fell to knees
so easily and viewed him as a father because
they’d never really known theirs; and maybe
he was sick for getting off on the fact they wanted
him to be the daddy they never had
Why did he want his woman to be his little girl?

Maybe he was sick, as sick as she was
But he wanted a woman too, a woman woman
Because he too craved to be the child
Maybe he needed someone to mother him
He’d felt the most a man buried inside her
Sticky skin against sticky skin
He thought of her often, though he never called
      His pride needed a woman he could break

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