Stop trying to pimp my pen when it belongs to someone else…

A Freudian slip didn’t mean he loved me, but I couldn’t really tell as I loved the way he felt when he leaned into me, triggering my dirty little mouth to trail blaze across his hardened flesh, searing both our senses whilst I watched the way his heart slipped into my glistening tight wet soul, and the ache to grip him tightly whilst quivering all over him as he kissed me like he meant it as we pushed & pulled against the tide was exhilarating, and I’m high as a kite whilst his kiss crushes me.
 
A subtle reminder how his kiss saved my life, whilst navigating the darkness, once upon a time.  
 
Both running red lights as he failed to established boundaries, and it wasn’t long until I found myself pinned to his wooden x framed cross, and he left me there pondering tomorrow whilst never really being present today, and I was splayed and exposed, fragile & vulnerable, whilst filled with a sweet disposition as he violated me sweetly & consensually, in ways that remain unspoken.
 
And for a moment, I sought refuge whilst sitting in his lap with my head tilted on his shoulder just trying to catch my breath from things I have no control over, let alone a choice to engage within as someone else writes me into their narrative, and I’m all for happy endings when the script is written by he & I but my heart is corrupted by a mind that waged war on me over things I know nothing about.  
 
He wants to leave, and I pack my bags to follow him, not knowing where I’m going as long as it’s within the safety of his arms as they afford me a smidgen of peace when he swaddles me close to him, and in that moment, nothing else seems to matter as I’m entirely consumed by his presence as his energy swirls around me.
 
And I’m all tangled up in his knots, whilst he keeps fucking me hard & deep for as long as he can whilst breathing life into me, and taking it away all in the same breath, and I’m well and truly fucked for I’ve sacrificed my sanity & soul to mitigate the risk of exposure, and that’s what you do when battling an internal war, whilst cradling the dichotomy of another’s grief & loss.
 
Pining for things I can’t have and hold, like his heart & soul anchored to mine whilst he nourishes me with soft spoken words that heal as opposed to the blistering anger that I never needed, or went looking for from misinformed bystanders who should fuck off, and mind their own business, instead of trying to sear people they don’t even know with their blow torches.
 
Fuck knows how I got here but it was consensual, it’s not like he held me to ransom at gunpoint and pimped my pen to be his dirty little whore when I willingly knelt before him, and surrendered my heart & soul as he ran his fingers along soul deep hairline fractures, whilst kissing me ever so intently.
 
And I look forward to basking in his godly sunlight whilst being immersed in the peace & contentment I feel whilst lying right next to him, tangled up tightly, and all we can do is sigh at things that are beyond our control for we know there are better days coming our way as he paints my heart & soul to cover up my haunting shades of black & blue.