Vouyerism And Window Panes

I’ve always tried to fuck as if I’m on film
as if eyes are watching, judging my size
my girth, the sweat trickling from my brow
the duration, depth angles
but porn moves are so much for the camera
they’re disconnected as if cunt and cock are
simply there for the crowd

and not for me to be intimate
to be as close and deep in you/with you as possible
where we fit together
lost pieces of the same puzzle
where you wrap tight around me
you’re wet enough to
take it all in your greed

the curtains ripple like waves
I smirk, I know he likes to watch
because the allure of your tits swaying
is a book he can’t help but try to read
where you cry a litany of profanities
I wonder if he wishes he could slide in
your mouth
that “oh”inviting you to taste him as you devour me

We give them a show
and I’m hoping the light from the house next door
is a woman watching on
I press your tits to the glass
one hand delicately curled around your throat
my free hand tracing poems on your clit, I whisper

come for them
so I can come for you