What My Boyfriend Doesn’t KnowMature

is that the pain is sharp.

A burning arrow

piercing through a tender target.

He doesn't know

that the warmth on his prick is

my hot blood

painting him in his asserted glory.

He moans,

I grit my teeth and plead him on,

the misery silent,

behind an ornamental smile.

His prize has been collected,

and my advantage

lost.

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed