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my partner splayed my lips with ten forceps. Each layer was delicately peeled back, met with his dry lips until my well spilled over to moisturize them. uncovered, our mattress breathed cool air. The crocheted blanket snuggled a path above his head. My eyes spun out to a doctors office, but I never left the bedroom. 

if i could suck my own breasts, i would. I might finally be able to mother myself.

Hyper-sexual desires express from my pores following eight foot swells of tears fed by the paralysis wrenching my gut. Tried to have sex. Constrictors laced inside me. My clitoris, agitated. Vagina cotton-mouthed with worry. Would he spread my lips dry and pour bacteria down my urethra? Memories replace my ball gags with jawbreakers; i wish to spray from my citrus skin onto his.