By Alexis Rhone Fancher

I wanted you small and folded
in my pocket. Like a Swiss Army knife.
Like a blow up doll. I wanted you
to fuck me and then disappear.

You wanted me wide open,
surrendered. Like a vacation.
Like a ripe nectarine.

I wanted to use you for sex.
Isn’t that what all
men dream of?

You wanted to fuse us to the
bed, glue me, on my hands
and knees, to the sheet, through
the mattress, tether me to the box
springs, nail me through
the floor.

It scared me out the door.

That day I saw you in Venice,
you walked past me
like your cock had
never been in my mouth.

I almost grabbed a fistful of you,
crammed you in like food.

Originally published in FRE&D Online, 2014


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