You,

Can make me a puppet.

You can make me dance

And moan

And shake

And cum literally at the tip of your finger

You make my entire body move with your finger

(and your eyes)

You can make me feel my matter condensing to a single point at the tip of your finger,

I imagine it is glowing.

And sometimes when you’re making love to me

(I’m sorry, I know you hate that phrase)

I feel the blood rush to my face suddenly as if my body remembers that my head needs to function too, but for a second it ran away from its responsibility

but for a second it ran away from its responsibility of keeping me alive

In order to feel more alive than it ever has.

And when you tell me to cum I don’t know why you’re telling me because I am your harlequin and have no power, active or passive

With you. And in that moment, it’s not a warm flood of fluid, it’s not fuzzy it’s not physical.

It’s a fucking blizzard.

And I am exposed

It’s a fucking blizzard and I am exposed and naked and my face is red

From the blood and the wind And I accept my insignificance in that vastness because no one has ever found me there.

But then it’s like some stupidly convenient cartoon and I see a fur coat billowing in the wind, stuck on a rock and since I have nothing, that coat is everything.

And I slip it around myself and I just fall asleep.