My, some gall you have! (and which I won't)

Content? Blogger, you play fast and loose with that word. Oh, maybe you meant "content." Fast(ing) all the same, but thanks for asking, yes, content just hungry. Gravid men, can you imagine? Judgemental fuckers, and I have a good one, man and imagination. Shakey shakey now, sit up straight Brain, don't slouch, because Depeche Mode starting to sound like an endlessly goosebumped rump romp, like a fucking prayer, like christ can we get to summer already, or whatever season it will be when I'm normal and you're neutered? Sure, Uncle Sam, help yourself! Shrinking, maybe, but not a violet, because I am not shy about what I need. What I need: him, to live for a long time, their kisses and messes, sand, a baritone filtered through an old screened door, to make indelible to my mind those fucking perfect imperfections in his skin that make him him, each vampirish tooth, each soft breath, each cut finger, every single last orgasm. Spiral down, regress, pathetic puppy, but I stand ready to defend because this is me: a woman in love with a man, completely, and I could be worse things, remember, like broken for real and ever. Yours in Happy Bondage, Girl who shines right through

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