Physical Comfort

When all others have failed
When there is no one else
When I am in need again
I turn to him, always him
I message him, oh, him
My deliriously yummy rebound
He doesn't love me, I know
I don't love him either, at all
Besides the way he feels
When he is between my thighs
When I'm moaning his name
Screaming his name, crying out
His fucking name as his body
Heals the cracks in my armor
Through the almost brutal using
Of this flesh cell that holds my spirit
His kisses and whispers and biting
Oh, God the way he bites so hard
Whether it is my breasts, my thighs
My stomach, my neck or my lip
The bruises last for days, weeks
Reminding me, that although
I am not one that people love
There will always be him, my lover
The lover of the flesh cell that holds my spirit