Later you will tsk, rub away a speck

of dried cum. Today the floor needs mopping,

the sheets laundry. You sat in the bathtub

for hours scrubbing. Last night you were filthy.

I knew you wanted more; only took what

I could offer, I received your wetness

trailing down my chin. I could only twist

against rope that bound my ankle and wrist

I don’t protest — I just stared, your lewdness

glistened wide, your clit a pomegranate

seed on my tongue — you stood above me

fingers twined throughout my hair as you rubbed

yourself faster and harder murmuring

into my neck flooding all down my neck.

— Babylon Crashing