Laying Claims

Though I look in many directions for affections, if you, my lover, my acquaintance, my friend, find refuge in someone else’s arms, I feel fractured. Even though I know there is not nearly enough of me to appease everyone’s needs, I want you to feast upon me with your eyes, your hands, your mouths.


Is it fair to compare two lovers who no longer compete for me? To wrench out the guts of two men who no longer bleed for me? I fantasize about the size of their parts paired up, shouldering burdens no man should bear. It originates from a certain love for brutality, I think, action movies where there exists no such thing as pain.

I want to donate my body, not to science but to carnal pleasures. I want to be measured and treasured for my worth. My heart sings at the thought of it, beating out a strange refrain. I do not understand your need to lay claims. It only gives me glee to see them struggling in my name.