He shoves himself down

My shrivelled folds

With the subtlety of a famished beast

Scavenging his bowl

Yearning for more.

A lover and a whore.

He clamps down hard

Squeezing my tongue into oblivion

and I taste the clammy salt

of sugarcoated perversion

And grip the sharper corners of the sheets

And stare at the fan

Willing his body

To swing from it.

How often had we seen the sun

Kiss the waves like an alighting firefly?

That is how this is really.

Except I can't kiss you back

Like the ocean.

For I'm sure even the Sun

Asks for permission.

I had a voice once.

I had it drowned

Amid the flightless folds

of my gown,

In the ceaseless creases of repentence.

Just another voice

Smothered by

a grunt.

A voice,

That never made it

To the tongue.