I need (to fuck you up)

   
Shut up.  
   
I’m sick of being nice.  
   
I need.  
   
I need…  
   
I need to fuck you up so hard    
you won’t trim your beard for a week
because you can’t meet    
yourself in the mirror  
without flashing back to...  
   
(my tongue in your ear,  
my toes in your mouth,  
my teeth as they break  
the skin of your inner thigh)  
   
I need to fuck you up  
and strangle the sweet little slut  
you prefer to to imagine,    
leave her propped  
like sacrificial carrion  
on a pay-by-the-hour bed,  
and lure you  
with wet,    
open-mouthed kisses  
to a B-movie horror set,  
where my name  
is fucking art  
as a scream.  
   
I want to stuff my come-crusted  
panties in your mouth,  
and dribble words  
down your neck    
like a putrid psalm  
   
who the fuck do you think you are  
shut the fuck up  
take off your pants  
don’t you goddamn look at me  
don’t you goddamn touch me  
   
And fuck you up more  
when I peel the hypnotic  
sheaths of black satin  
off my long, long legs,  
chain you with them,  
the filth of the floor  
staining your clean knees  
like my questing tongue  
staining your mind    
   
I crave to kick off my right  
fuck-me shoe,  
use your chin as a footrest  
and pour cabernet down my leg  
just to see you lap at my feet  
like a dog  
   
before I    
get behind you,  
fist your cock,  
and moan  
you sick fuck,  
until I catch your load in my hands  
and smear it like a slap    
on your chin    
your cheeks;    
and use    
your  
you-lubed face  
like a nondescript sex-toy  
until you're choking  
on the taste of    
us fucking  
   
without sex.  
   
Talk is cheap.  
Talking dirty, cheaper.  
Give me a night without words  
and, baby,    
   
I’ll  
fuck  
you  
   
up.