Good morning. I find myself in your arms again.
I find myself writhing above you again.
What is this taste?
What are these sounds?
I never favored the privacy of sleep until I met you, and our nights carry a deprived blanket of anxiety in my dreams. Is it worth it? In the morning, when you greet me with those same vile words.
There is no love in what you do.
There is only lust.
But what was I to expect in dancing with wild dogs?
Still chalked to the teeth with ferocity and bite, not yet domesticated by the hand of their to-be masters. I've managed to snare one that takes its teeth away from my throat and latches onto my teet, suckling and mewling like a newborn.
Who is in this body, now, I do not know. For when I am beside you in the deep night I can't recognize myself. You infect my tongue to spew ungodly language to urge you on.
I watched you change. I watched you at your most vulnerable point.
And I'll weep in the corner of a mountain where tufts of wild grass and the long tendrils of foliage are the only living things to caress me, and my choked breath will carry this tainted air up into the clouds and the rain will taste bitter. and I'll miss the sensation of your hand soothing across my spine, God's mountain trail. The reigns around my mouth embed into red duvets that never heal correctly because I don't take the harness off, not out of devotion but of my own sanity. who am I without a Shepard?
How will this end? Who will stab who first?
