I wait for him on my knees, on latex and bruises
For a kiss, for a breath, for a slap
He chokes me, steals the air until I’m gasping,
Begging for release.
He is merciless, pushing me against walls, into corners
Spreading my legs, tasting, exploring
Until I’m over the edge, gone.
I follow him to bed
Bound,
And wait.
I am deaf without his touch
Blind without his kiss
Mute without his voice
There is only desire in his eyes,
waiting to devour me
I bow my head when he enters me
Prostrating to his needs
Bending to his will
He calls to me and I come
Wetness dripping through my lips and into his
I am his slave, his secret, his prisoner.
I am his, bound.
Ropes and chains that leave invisible contusions
Tracing outlines of stories left behind
I am empty when he comes in me
So that when he empties himself
I am filled with him and only him.
A million and one nights and I am his.
—Alexa Hernandez is a second-year linguistics student, aspiring polyglot, and teacup enthusiast.
@alejandranikola
