02: October 2014 #17 - Cities
Authored by Chelsea Fonden #2
In the bathtub we fucked like stoned donkeys, slow, warm, yellow. In so many cities I let them chip at my skin, pieces coming off and I covered up, pretending to be whole. Hotel sheets turned down, inviting, hot steam from the shower, a stiff chair in the corner. Unraveled tights and abandoned stilettos, satin, lace, the thick smell of lust. There are no features above their collars, neckties, nothing inside where the head should be. In the mornings I stretch and run, when I come back I glare and they are slow to find their pants. Do you feel it they ask and I say yes, yes and when I was young I crashed my bike into the front gate. For god's sake I don't feel it, I don't want to hold hands. There was one once who did, a Conservative, a Contradiction, Church in the morning and at night he fucked me in the bay window and people watched from way below. But he gave himself to War when he said he wouldn't leave, and there are so many cities. So many men coming and going, but I think they are missing the point.