Who Is Like God

I pull you into me and the tables turn and all bets are off. Maybe it’s the heat of your skin or your cinnamon hair but you drive me wild, mad, and as you undress I can’t help but rip the clothes from your golden god form, drown myself in wings like the starry cosmos and see ourselves reflected in the sword you have laid aside by the riverside. The first time we fucked you patted my head after I came as if saying good job for grinding your ass on me but you would put it so much more poetically, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ass, or fuck, or anything crass – after all, you’re an angel, and angels aren’t dirty – well, all but me. I’m filthy and you like it and so we’re wrangling in the dew wet grass and dirt a second time, drunk off each other, and you’re laughing at me and playing with my hair and saying how adorable I am and how you don’t want to break me. Break me, break me archangel, rip my insides open and make pearls of my bones. I love you, I want you, and there’s this dripping wound in my mind that needs your song.

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