​Summer Love

Obilus—late-night scriptures, each step splashed a more obtrusive truth, bellowing out sympathy like a widow at a funeral.

And I took it on the chin— relating those enzymatic landmines that were your tongue. Hoping I’d be victorious as I grasped you tight— but more like the flu than a lover.

My favorite part of those nights was watching the hairs on my skin rise in ovation to your demonic reciprocation.

I would lie awake, squirming on the ground, each part of my rippled body inching its way over and over itself.

And like a corpse in a casket, you would revel in our filth. You—providing your sadistic purpose, and I—enjoying each septic inch.