Brutal

symphony of sweat-soaked sheets,
she tells me,

"fuck me hard,"
brutal,
and I oblige.

we are a mechanical motion
pumping and gyrating into infinity,
so much so that she needs that pain
to feel real.

she shifts into that gear called reality,
screaming and writhing.

I feel like the conductor of an orchestra
when she lets me play her

like an instrument:
I sound a melody and she howls,
sunday's finest church choir.

honestly, I hope the neighbor
keeps pounding on the wall,

that bass line is incredible.

she rips at my hair, tears at the skin
grasping for something beyond physical.
I bear it but I don't even

feel it, anymore.

hands pinned, pistons flaring in fevered
frenzy.
her eyes are wild for the kill.

predator,
fucking brutal.

"hit me,"
and I strike a chord like a rock star,
reunion tour style.