“They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!”
― C. JoyBell C.
Those words are utterances,
crushed beneath the weight of his hand
and I am shared, amongst his fantasies, between his tales, beneath his carnal need.
He quietens me
with his baritone and blazing eyes and binds.
We slip in moments
of softness before he sodomises me.
Those pleas fly about like arrows,
he calls me his little basketcase,
there - smothered beneath the cause for concern
and, inhaling the stark human I've come to know, he loves me.
In his own way,
he erects a pool of silence between us
and fashions a lifeguard of himself
when I am too close to drowning in it.