Pavlovian
When you write to me “darlin” I run a bath,
scalding and scented, flesh perfumed, punished
on your behalf. Far away masters have
local effects between the shorn sluttish
succulent lips and the cervix. You saturate
me on the inside. This flesh arid, clothed
is duplicitous pride you would berate
if you could see. I am a beast you exposed
obsessively until I learned to spurn
humanity myself, to proffer pink skin,
a wet wishing well. Conditioned to yearn,
wait my turn until summoned again,
with a prim presentation playing pretend —
just a trained animal, Pavlovian.
Horror Sleaze Trash 