To the person who called rough love,
tough love.
As if this delicate four lettered word
Was leathery jerky;
dry.
Confusing a fuck
For something else
Entirely.
Two hands, layered;
overtop that thyroid —
underneath those palms.
It all just felt like
Childhood control
Nails dug into the dermis,
Screams that release to the beat.
The drop of that neurological response,
Those drips of hormones,
Turning spines into snakes.
Everyone is dancing,
Alright.
I feel right at home,
When control spins like a record player.
Consensually,
Rotating Around;
Cloud Nine.
My whole life;
I can’t remember a time
I
Did
Not
Like
The
Music
Loud.
