Blowing smoke

You are nothing more than interactive porn.
But there are bugs in the program,
and they irritate the piss out of me.
I want to fix the program, rewrite it, make it
do what I want...

I just want to... (pull you close)
I just want to... (push you away)

I just want to rip out your tongue
and use it like a sex toy
until it tells me what I
absolutely don’t need to hear.

I want to fuck out
things that’ll
rip me apart in ways
I can’t wait to understand,
things that’ll leave me
with mascara
tracks on my mind
while I sit on the
dirty floor of a bus-stop bathroom
wondering why the lies were so good
why they felt so damn kind

I want to get off on it all.

Then satiated, I’d like to saunter away
tossing your tongue aside,
as if it were as unimportant
as a mattress
left on the side of the road.

Because it’s all easy,
right.
It’s all easy.

Unfortunately you never
let it be that easy.
So I’m stuck with
your perfect words,
softly licking a trail of  
meaning
along the top of
my cleavage

And I’m sitting outside
on the back porch at noon,
arms crossed over my knees
forehead resting on my arms
wondering when sunrise will
show the fuck up,
run its lips across me
and speak
(like you do)
in nothing but
lost phrasing,

That’s when the rain
started, while I was
waiting for the sun,
and my nipples
stood out as solid forms
against the thin tank-top membrane
the noontime shower
plastered to me,
(just like your words)
and I knew I was fucked
three ways to Sunday.

You’re just good time.
Just a made-for-me
clip
that responds to key words;
Inter-fucking-active-porn.
That’s it.

And I’m just
a fucking liar.