she presses inscriptions disguised as bruises on warm necks that pump hot lava around warm bodies, that's fingertips press heat into her cold bones.
her whispered words are simple, "come get me boy, I'm free boy."
their eyes blink blank and single their view into slits of desire. she ain't a free girl, she's tied to the ring tan on one of her left fingers, she's tied to a baby that cries for mama, she's tied to a home that smells like cinnamon and shea butter and family.
but she ain't tied to the walls of this black and white fort, with stages and secret rooms and men with dollars tied to their hands and gold chains tied to their necks and gold rings tied to their fingers. she ain't tied to skimpy lingerie with swirls of red between her breasts and something see-through and seductive between her legs.
her lies are hammers, chipping and pulling away at the foundation of her life. her head is a museum of guilt but amidst is the lull to seek something consuming, something that reeks of sex and steamy desire that sits in her veins and sings her to sleep until she melts into a warmth of pleasure. until her body trembles under a cave of a warm body, until she forgets her babies cries and her husbands loving palm and her cosy home.
she comes to the sound of their uneven breaths and cries when they leave her cold and red-necked. she knows she's a fuckin' lying bitch but she can't help her constant need to be stimulated until she's close to grasping heaven, she can't help her mouth wanting to savour something dangerous and off-limits, to feel the warm swell of God in her mouth and swallow his entity until it becomes her own. she just wanna be whole again.
at least that's what she convinces herself when she's on all fours begging for her daddy to break her walls down.
