"don't look at me..."
i'm sitting on the toilet, laughing.
he stands in front of me, and puts his hand on my head.
i can't help but start pissing, it comes out in
trembly streams rhythmically released by my
embarrassingly high-pitched giggle.

"does it weird you out that i like watching you pee?"
he kneels down and leans back on his toes while i wipe
and pull my panties back on. i leave my tights in a pile on the floor
and allow his eyes to linger up my legs and over the
turns and plateaus of my frame.
he loves to look at me.

when he backs me up against the wall,
it isn't vulgar.
it is a kathleen turner movie.
i give him just enough shit to keep it classy.

i cannot help that i don't love you.
your pursed lips, your low profile,
it is all sexy, believe me.
i battle with the conviction in your frustrated glare.
i wish that i had it in me to devote
that passion into you,
but i am
tired.

you will love me
as long as i continue to resist you.
if you should stop,
i will become intrigued by your new command.
you will always be able to seduce me, a little
you will always want to fuck me.
half the time, i'll let you.

are you mad?
can i carve that wound
in your spinal cord?
can i free all that sad
into my womb
and let it explode?

i am yours
to play with.
isn't that
enough?

08/31/2010

Posted on 09/01/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer