We found a scarcity for color
In each other’s irises. Explored the strange contrast
Of a dot constricted,
Among the vastness of white.
Consumed in the promise of Caucasian escapism.
But all the strains of
Middle-Class and historical Bastardom perished.
When she grabbed my prick and
“I thought you couldn’t get hard on opiates?”
And I smirked:
“This shit isn’t that good…”
However, all the conditions of a high
Are met with the expectations of a low.
So it was,
As demonstrated in prior times,
Her hair dangled along the sides of the toilet.
And the drumming of Ramen and peaches
Falling into water,
Exemplified the dry heaving
We found ourselves buried inside Bedlam
Better reserved for tears.
I tasted Ramen,
On her neck. Danced my lips
Over a pockmark,
That struck like a burr.
As the onslaught of a 5am sunrise
Seeped in through the blinds,
I watched as her lungs
Gasped for air,
While I held her sleeping body
In my arms.
‘This is what you always wanted?’
I asked the same question
To a measured 10cc of bottled water.
I wasn’t allowed to use the tap.
She said she wanted me to be pure.