Sunk in you, three knuckles deep. Palms pounded
on the car’s roof. Each hoarse, “Fuah! Aah!” Telltale
stains on the seat, your jeans, a pad with blood.
That night my mixtape and the winter’s gale
drowned out your croaky cries. You arched your spine,
sprayed down my wrist and arm. We had nowhere
to go so we drove downtown as the whine
of the blizzard led us to a daycare
parking lot, now abandoned. Friday night.
Our third date. “Mess me up inside,” you said.
You had to be home soon. I kissed the scar
on your inner thigh, rubbed you with delight,
then stuck my fingers, all cum-soaked and red,
in your mouth. The taste of going too far.