Fuck the crazy back in

 
A glass breaks against the far wall  
and you whiplash back,  
your scrolling forgotten,  
because you fucking know  
my shitty aim  
is the only reason that glass  
wasn’t etched into your forehead  
like a neon sign  
 
We had a calm moment.  
 
We went to bed chastely  
with the sheet dimpled  
between us and kept it  
uncomplicated.  
 
but my tits are swollen  
and poking braless  
through the  
white tank top  
-- you didn’t fucking notice --    
and my lips are moist  
in both places  
and I’m ready  
to feel  
alive  
 
I don’t even bother  
to answer your  
stupid little questions  
(What did I do?)  
(What the fuck is wrong with you?)  
(Jesus, will you stop and just talk to me?)  
 
I just press my thighs together  
and throw the butter at you,  
dish and all  
making solid eye contact  
the entire fucking time  
and miss  
 
I aim the steak at your phone  
and miss  
 
and the knife at your head,  
and miss  
 
chest heaving  
hurling condiments and  
green beans  
until motherfucker,  
I hit you with a roll.  
 
(You don’t even eat rolls.  
You got them for me.  
And that makes it better.)  
 
I throw my hands up in victory  
and it’s enough time for you to  
clear the table with one arm  
drag me across  
by my shirt  
and growl at me to  
put away  
the crazy  
 
for a minute,  
 
Baby,  
the crazy  
is what  
you really  
fucking  
want.  
 
The fact that I’m gonna love  
you like an old blues song  
and then try to murder you  
like death metal  
and hum Taylor Fucking Swift  
then entire goddamn time.  
 
The way I want fucks and cuddles  
and an aftercare milkshake  
when I’m covered in come  
and handprints  
and how I vacillate between  
lock-jaw jealousy and  
utter contentment  
for no reason  
 
all the fucking time  
 
gets you off.  
 
But you sitting your  
fine ass over there  
just sort of nothinging  
 
doesn’t get me off.  
 
And I want you to get me off.  
 
   
So no.  
 
I won’t tell you what’s wrong.  
I won’t stop throwing shit at you.  
I won’t put away the crazy.  
 
The crazy wakes all the way up  
when your mouth crashes on mine  
and I’m not sure what I’m fighting  
but I thrash around  
enough that a forgotten  
serving spoon skins a strip  
off my lower back  
 
and the unnoticed tank top rips off,  
the panties roll into  
my running shorts  
and fly across the room  
to nest with the broken  
butter dish  
 
and  
your hand is so  
fucking gentle as  
it grips my throat that  
wetness floods my thighs  
 
and I shudder hard
when  
you suck my bottom lip  
into your mouth  
 
and suddenly  
I’m fighting myself  
to not fight  
 
I layer your chest with  
the backs of my thighs,  
tone calves over your  
strong shoulders,  
push my pussy
to you like  
the table is here  
to serve me,  
 
and recline  
back on my arms  
so I can watch  
 
so I can watch.  
 
your fingers find me first  
and I grip the table  
as I lie back,  
still silent,  
still nailing my pupils to yours  
still crazy as fuck  
 
you replace your  
fingers with your  
dick and  
I break my silence  
to moan your name  
 
your ass pumps  
and you jack your  
pelvis up so  
that each thrust  
hits me  
just  
 
fucking  
 
right  
 
and you  
fuck the heavy table  
half across the  
room  
as you fuck me half  
out of my mind  
 
and you blister  
my body with  
your gaze  
our sex squelching  
and loud,  
and messy,  
my insides  
clench around you  
and my head lolls  
back when you  
growl in your chest  
that you're close  
and  
 
you  
f  
u  
c  
k  
   
the  
crazy  
back  
in