rough edge

dark corners, like
the grit of profanity
on my tongue.

run my hands over
rough edges,
rub myself against them,

feel how they grate me.

just want to fulfill
desires, doesn't matter
what they are.

need a nickel?
i'll give you a nickel.

this is real:
that fantastical
rush.

your mind makes
what it wants of me
in empty spaces
left to fill in.

a dirty mad-lib.
whatever story
you feel like reading.

strip me down, i am
a half-blank page.

armed with a pen,
you scrawl all over me.

you know what to write
in the white noise

make me feel like
i accomplish
something.

satisfaction,
you read what you've
written across my face:

the mirror of
my achievement.

feel you up in
places you love
to be felt.

shadow-hands over
hard whiteness.
your scars,
your trembling skin.

a face you half-see
and forget.

it's could that
tastes good, it's
could that makes

you run your tongue
over places I bite
you, makes you wish I
would bite you again.

I write you, I will
be what you need,

i can't touch you.

i make you
touch yourself.