be my downlow, Estralita
war stories. I’m sick of them. I figure you are, too.
go away, then, find something else to sleep with.
the visions of the enemy never retreat. they stare at me
with their hateful eyes & their gun barrels; battlefields
that won’t forget me.
we traced them through verdant jungles & over mortared
hills, as they made for defenseless villages where they
gunned down the innocent. the mangled bodies of women &
children paved the incarnadine streets & the paths to
obliterated gardens. we were too late to save the villagers,
but we murdered the heathens where they stood, & it was
good. it was very good.
how long can a man go with just the smell of blood around, &
never the smell of sex? I survived when there was nothing to
survive for, except a warm meal, & a woman, somewhere,
she didn’t have to welcome me as a desired lover, either;
if I could kill, I could rape.
– wear a pretty dress, baby, so I can tear it off you. I want to
see your naked flesh, & the scratches of my brutality –
a woman will fight to protect herself, & that makes it more arousing.
I’ll beat the resistance out of her, till she tells me, with the last of her
defiance, ‘do what you want, I don’t care anymore!’
my hands & my tongue will burn with the furious beauty of her,
as I engorge myself with the decimated glory of my whored maiden.
how many of your holes will I penetrate, little star, before I
explode inside you!
when I come upon you, woman, you had better like it rough…