Cum and O.J. Simpson
Somewhere in the crowded house party of my twenties
I lost track of what separates pain and pleasure
trauma and temptation
I pictured bruises around my neck more beautiful than any jewel
And dreamed about a morning I would wake up to blood on the mattress
I started to get wet staring at the man putting my groceries away
not because I was fixated on his hands and fingers
but on the plastic bag he held
imagining it wrapped tight around my head
sucked into my mouth
my last breath would be a moan forced out by crumpled lungs
I fantasized about the football star in black leather gloves
Pulling me up by my hair
His foot steadfast on my spine
I can only cum to the thought of his knife against my throat
nobody understands why I drool over men’s belts but not what lays beneath them
why I think love at first sight smells like burnt skin
or why a split lip is better than a lipsticked one
so I sit on the sidelines nursing wounds that only exist in my head
waiting for the day I don’t understand either.
Kyoko Caulfield is a nonbinary (they/them) writer currently living in Brooklyn, New York. Their instagram is @honey.lemonade.
