251. Sex With an Old Pro

Sex With an Old Pro

When we've slid into place,

it's not how I'd imagined---

no screaming avalanche,

no baying elk-noises.

Feels well-designed...

but what's missing is sap-like,

hurts the teeth.

So, a request:

"Could you. . . fuck me harder?"

(something, even, they like to hear?)

eyes open,

rocking trout-freckled biceps slow,

"no, I'm sorry---

that's not the way I do it."

Ah.

Enter coitus,

muscle memory takes the baton.

My legs, then, close.

I rise vertical,

my skin grows rigid.

I am a tree

and you a stag,

pushing against me to scrape the velvet off your antlers.