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.
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