it's not ideal,
but that's what I'm used to,
your fat, white body,
my tan, needy one.

you leaving, me staying.
familiar.
I work these things out in my head.
an archer
so six orgasms later,
my hair a mess,
mascara to my knees,
your middle-aged body exhausted,
mine meticulously maintained.

I stumble naked to the mirror and find myself a pink monster.
My knees shake in the shower.
I wonder what this power is that you have.
I can read it in your words, in the way you give the waiter what he wants, protect me from vagaries.
I want you, but don't.

You approach me and there is no magic, you kiss me and I neither tingle nor wince,
make the most of your thin, biting lips.

I know I will want you to stay, but wouldn't want you.
and you won't.
this state gets me off the most.
hotel room
impending doom.

I want to take a sample and stick it under my microscope.
obsessed with tenacity, I grow to hate the mundane.

myself a cliche, Girl With an Unavailable Father.
I want it, that which cannot happen.