From The Depths

1.

Do you ever look down at that
girl you’re about to throat fuck,
look her right in the eyes and
wonder what they were like at
5-10-maybe 12?
Do you ever look at that goddess
on her knees and wonder why she’s there?
What brought her there to that moment
in both of your lives?
Is it revenge?
Is it defiance against a god she
Can’t stand or comprehend?
( Maybe some other father figure?)
Is it an act of independence?
Or is it true love?
Do you know how lucky you are?
Do you ever feel grateful as she’s
swallowing your seed,
as she moans in ecstasy,
right before she fucks you?
Does she dance slowly in your head
every second of every day of your
life until you can’t stand to be
without her for one second?
I didn’t think so.
I could speak volumes on what she
means to me.
Her smile.
Her eyes.
Her laughter.
Her sadness.
I could get drunk on the tears
she’s cried over you.
WASTED ON YOU!
Her existence takes my breath away.
I see her as a goddess worshiped
in some ancient culture that we killed
off centuries before she was born,
with statues erected in her honor in
the middle of the capital,
her name in prayers offered up by the devoted.
She could be a warrior fighting bloody
battles to the death alongside the boys
 we send off to the slaughter .
 She could be a doctor or a lawyer.
She could be a Nobel Prize Winner
in the field of science for finding
a cure for cancer or HIV.
She could be someone’s mother charged with
nurturing and protecting a new generation of
men coming up in the world.
I think of all the possible lives
she could lead and then I see
her standing there as she is and
my body aches to be near her.

Kinda funny, don’t you think?
 
2.

I remember that first time with her,
she was so unsure of the world around her,
she had been wounded and was angry
at people who had forgiven themselves and
moved on years ago.
I had been beaten down, wounded, and
corrupted by religion- child molestation- pornography- bullshit words
spoken in the heat of the moment
by former lovers and fuck buddies; supposed
friends.
We stayed up all night talking politics-
sex-religion-our family histories,
really digging at each other trying to
find the meat of the person sitting
in front of us.
Went through 2 ½ packs of cigarettes each.
She was insecure about her body which
was not the epitome of that picture
perfect plastic holy icon that I had
been trained to adore my whole life
but she was beautiful.
The air was thick with drunken madness and arousal,
there was electricity humming all around us,
I kept wondering when the sparks would
fly and we would explode into fiery
holy mushroom cloud over the Southern United States.
With my heart racing, blood thundering in my ears,
I whispered reassuring words in a trembling
voice like offering prayer up to some
lesser known pagan goddess.
I kissed and licked the ugliest parts
of her-the scars-the stretch marks-
words that she had carved into her own skin-
cigarette burns inflicted upon her by some
asshole I prayed was rotting in hell;
her skin was a battle field.
Like a tourist in some foreign country,
that only exists in the moment,
 I made my way through hills and
 valleys of soft flesh toward that dark
and damp nest of pubic hair,
slowly running my face through the curls,
 felt like I could have slept there
1,000 years dreaming of god’s true face
and of paradise lost yet not so far away.
I parted her legs like the opening
of the gates to the city of my rebirth,
kissed pudgy thighs tightly clamped against my head,
took her into my mouth licking-sucking-kissing.
Tasted like sweet, dripping melon.
She sighed.
My thoughts were lost in the smell of her.
She grabbed the hair at the back
of my head so tight I saw
stars of pain as she pushed me into her.
“Right there!” she said breathless.
I stuck my tongue in deep,
darting in and out as far as
it would go like it was a
cock fucking her.
She moaned, pulled my head back, and
motioned for me to come to her
with a wiggle of her finger.
She was ready to fuck.

Later, just before the ghost blue of dawn,
smoking-talking of past lives we had
lived through and come out the other
side of with the muscles in our
bodies relaxed; for one brilliant moment I
 felt like I had come to really
know her in mind-in body-in soul.
We sat wrapped up together in a
blanket staring at the moon still high in the sky.
She looked so lovely, so strong in
the pale light.
I stared at the side of her
face long and hard so as not
to forget a detail.
In this moment I felt innocent for
the first time in years.

3.

Sitting here wondering where she ran off
too after we parted ways on a
summer afternoon five years back.
We weren’t on good terms at that
point even though we fought like hell
to stay together even after it was
clear to both of us that it
just wasn’t meant to last.
Some things are worth fighting for,
even after the war is over,
because the loss is too great in the end.
I remember every moment I was with
her as if it was yesterday.
Talking like we were starved for conversation,
getting drunk and howling at the moon,
the way her hair smelled after a shower,
what she looked like asleep,
what it was like to kiss her,
how her body felt on my hands,
the way her pussy tasted.
 How strange that she should be like
a poison running through my veins that
won’t kill me but make me cry.
Feels like being separated from a Siamese
twin after sharing everything our entire lives.
We’ll always be a part of each
Other like the phantom limb that the
amputee still claims to feel for decades
after it was cut off.
A shared life experience that strengthened the
foundation of who we are as members
of the human race experiment.
It was a spiritual connection.