Not The Sex

A Poem

Like tongue in mouth, it’s messy
 sometimes

And no one gropes you like a man

Sucking leaves bruises that last a while,
 turning purple like plums,
 unripe and green

And saliva leaves lines, wet—
 cold where breath blows goosebumps

And still, when I open my legs too wide,
 even alone,
 I feel the need to close them

An ache, often painful,
 where pleasure’s only found
 out of my body

It’s a pattern—
 ’cause really,
 it was only ever just a moment

One that lingers,
 and still

It’s not the sex I’m afraid of




- Forbes

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Yeahhh buddy, Thanks for reading.