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Refusing to grieve today, I lie back.
As if you are before me.
As if you’ve wandered forty days,
starved, humming, drenched in sunlight.
Inevitably, I prefer you this way.
It’s sweet, how sweet you are.
How well I know you, beautiful boy.
Trapping my thoughts,
I place your hand over my mouth.
Keenly aware of my proclivities,
aware I’ll chew, claw, terrify.
You’re bright. You breathe,
“You like it so fucking rough.”
“I’ll never hurt you.”
“I prefer less teeth.”
“Hold still.”
“Relax.”
To be perfectly honest, baby,
you captivate me. Yet, I am bored to tears,
begging you to pull my hair.
When you quote Men are from Mars,
assure me I am your princess,
I laugh to disguise the rage.
You’ve never fought for your life.
I study your beauty. Burning it into me.
Your soft mouth, well-formed hands,
aversion to germs, to life’s discomfort.
I wonder, baby — may I call you that —
Am I too much for you?
How easily I confound you.
Beautiful, insightful boy,
There are more things in heaven and earth.
I am more underworld than girl.
Your perception of me is eclipsed.
I starved, baited, and punished,
when you, heroic, collided with me.
I fell for your gentility.
I filed my fangs, combed my hair,
so that I can now lie back,
bank my fire, unhinge my jaw,
and make love to your ghost.
The Kiss of the Sphinx || 1821 AZ USA 12.15.25