Telling Stories

I want to be brutalized with the truth.

I want to know my stranger.

I want to hear the story fall from his soft, whiskered lips. I swear I’ll watch quietly as it lands on my broken lap, hold myself perfectly still while it explodes there. I want to feel the heat spread from his tongue and slither up my held open thighs. I promise not to moan as it crawls up inside me. I wont shiver as it struggles its way pushing through me. I wont breathe at all. I’ll let each word hook itself up inside me, plant its tethers in my skin. My organs will obediently rearrange themselves around each syllable, my heart will contract full.

I’ll hold your story deep within me, swaying safely in my veins. And when it hurts I wont purge it, I promise not to say a word. I only want to know it from the inside, I just want you to feel less strange.