trailer homes, cigarettes burning down to the filter, cheap alcohol, sex. sunday church with stained hands folded in prayer. dinner at the diner, bible study after dark, and. fliphones.
bearing my mother’s visage and my father’s rage perhaps explains the inherent compulsion to make others submit to me. there is something vile living beneath my skin, but — i do not fear how long i have carried it for.
foreplay becomes hollow in the absence of allure, and allure cannot truly manifest without an underlying current of authentic sexual energy.
only the bed bears witness to the murmured cadence of your prayers, uttered long before you ever think to kneel before me.
