I could be a better boyfriend than him

The bed thumps rhythmically  
beneath you while you
make a grocery list
and notice the weird
water stain by the  
edge of the ceiling fan
 
the pace increases so
you stifle a halfassed moan and  
tilt your pelvis and  
wonder
 
is this  
 
is this…
 
and you wait until the shower
starts before you  
grimly knock one out
with fingers or vibes,
and the fantasy is always
someone’s skin who
isn’t quite real enough to taste…
 
To taste.
 
To taste  
The way  
 
The way you taste yourself in
my mouth,
and for the first time
realize you’re  
a delicacy
 
And oh, beautiful,
the way you taste
with my forearm against your
pelvis while you wantonly
writhe against me,
 
basking in your fucking
feminine power  
 
As. You. Should.
 
tastes like a sweat-soaked
lullaby wrenched from  
your delicate throat
 
And you revel in
your come on my face,
your fingers in my long hair,
your soft breasts arching up
against my skin
which is  
so  
like  
yours
 
I don’t care if you shaved
your legs,
or want to just  
cuddle, and be sad,
and watch
Disney+
 
I don’t give a flying shit
about your insecurities
your body issues.
Because you are a goddess.
You.
Are.
 
Your body has no issues,  
other than the fact
it’s not grinding  
against mine.
 
I do the fucking dishes,
and I give the clit  
the best seat in the house
and I think
you
her
me
we
are fucking perfect
the way we fucking are.
 
the way we fucking are.
 
So dig your nails
into my strong shoulders,
and lose yourself  
against my soft mouth,
as I slip two
slim fingers inside you
and growl
in a soft southern lilt
 
how fucking hot
you make me;
how fucking wet  
you are;
 
How.
Fucking.
Sexy.
You are
with the lights on.
 
I slide down your body
like it’s a fair ride, and  
I revel in the  
way it moves me.
 
And the bed doesn’t  
have a rhythm,
 
(there’s no rhythm,
no ceiling stain, and I already  
ordered groceries.)
 
The only sounds of  
you
beneath  
me
 
are those  
of your toes curling
in the sheets;
 
of your cry  
of release,
 
of  
my name
on your  
ragged breath