Inevitability, Part III

Inevitability.

A surprised voice. 

A sharp smell.

A lipstick stain.

A light trip over the threshold. 

White fuzz separates from the black stripes. 

A sharp tongue nips your temple and the blood trickles down and you reel backward, another blunt force trauma, this time from the back. 

A swarm of sexual memories intrudes upon the violence. The bite of a gnat becomes a bite on your neck. I didn’t check for marks today. 

A scratch that plucks out your eyeball or the scratch that arches your back. 

A heavy dark drumbeat, a funeral dirge or the steady rhythm of two bodies together. 

The slick dark smear of your blood, puddled on the floor, slipping on the mess

platelets white red cells plasma

it all looks the same

delicious enough to drink

on hands and knees

lapping up every last drop

iron-rich and metallic

tangy and gritty with the sand and cement

the ground

And then we’re back

the other dirty inevitability, the hands and knees as the drumbeat of your hand presses in from behind, positioned carefully so it might feel like it’s attached from that spot on your body that’s not your wrist. 

A dirty game we play pretending playing pretend with our body types. 

A cock crows once, twice, thrice, four times and counting 

there’s five 

and it can’t be 

Six

a coincidence, imagining

Seven

this filthy scene, and as

Eight

a responding call sounds deeper (yes) 

further away (further in) 

Nine

It strikes me that it may be no cock at all but in fact a mockingbird, and wouldn’t that be the most delicious dish of all?

Feathers plucked (naked as it were) 

head roughly pulled off and

maybe we’re experimenting with choking here

but no I’ve heard that’s dangerous let’s go back to play violence where it’s all in our heads

it’s too hard it’s too dark here I can’t no please stop POP

Goes the mockingbird’s wishbone

with a satisfying thwack the discarded bones hit the floor

heavy now as they’ve transmuted from bird to human, the sticky sweet floor blood pouring from between 

Your legs but it’s clear now, because you gush like a waterfall when you see me

The violence of passing between memory and reality 

Fantasy and fiction

The disparate worlds

Ten

And the crazed pant as you 

Lick lick lick 

Or 

Chop chop chop

And realize it was all a dream?

But you’re not 

It’s too real, the feel of her hand inside, the slap across the face too stinging

The slowing of her breathing to match your asphyxiation

Where does sex end and death begin?

We’re only just

Getting started 

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