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.

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Kyoko Caulfield is a nonbinary (they/them) writer currently living in Brooklyn, New York. Their instagram is @honey.lemonade.