The neighborhood bondage shop has a cage for sale in its display window. Four feet by three feet by three feet, cast iron, complete with velour dog bed the texture of a 90s Juicy track suit. Locking gate. The right size for a man if his ankles and wrists were tied behind him.
For days I dream of ropes. Of keys laced with silver cord, aluminum smell of the hardware store. I dream of dogs who dream of rabbits. Delicious green of summer yard. Like body after not feeling body, startled hungry.
My lover leaves the country. I sleep with myself for three weeks and think to devour my neighbor's henhouse. His husband calls it a "hobby farm" he tells me one morning, leaving tuna for the cats. That's love: Consenting degradation.
I think you should know I would shave your head in your sleep. Maybe your moles would bleed and bloom like food coloring inside your pillow. Whose insides are redder, I wonder sometimes. I get high and peer into myself using the backside of my lover's CD collection.
I spent an hour today watching women with eight-inch erections fuck each other on the Internet. Later, I walked around a flooded lake, put my face to the mud and inhaled that dead-worm odor. Rotting fish and water.
I know how something living smells after six months of winter let me tell you.
For days I dream of ropes. Of keys laced with silver cord, aluminum smell of the hardware store. I dream of dogs who dream of rabbits. Delicious green of summer yard. Like body after not feeling body, startled hungry.
My lover leaves the country. I sleep with myself for three weeks and think to devour my neighbor's henhouse. His husband calls it a "hobby farm" he tells me one morning, leaving tuna for the cats. That's love: Consenting degradation.
I think you should know I would shave your head in your sleep. Maybe your moles would bleed and bloom like food coloring inside your pillow. Whose insides are redder, I wonder sometimes. I get high and peer into myself using the backside of my lover's CD collection.
I spent an hour today watching women with eight-inch erections fuck each other on the Internet. Later, I walked around a flooded lake, put my face to the mud and inhaled that dead-worm odor. Rotting fish and water.
I know how something living smells after six months of winter let me tell you.
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