Heather Joy

Regurgitated Relationship

It started with our lips. 
Doesn’t it always?
No greater sound than 
the one you made when I pleasured you. 
I encouraged your behavior with 
a muscle memory of moans. 
Shapeshifting to tolerate your movements. 
Wetness meant completion to you. 
Vibration meant orgasm for me. 
Any fool can feign indifference. 
The sickness of sexual stability recycles itself.
Zodiacally speaking,
a fire sign to my water. 
Did this mean dominating your flame? 
Or drowning in your heat? 
I’m still making sense of the ins and outs (tee hee). 
Much like being unapologetically open, 
like my legs were with you. 
Another round over here, please. 
Our juices aren’t enough to 
hydrate these exhaustive efforts. 
Most prefer to establish a familiar rapport 
before unleashing their true colors. 
Yet I, a self-described mess, 
used a full palette from the start. 
“You’re such a fun time!” 
Pssh, the only thing you gave me was regret, buddy.