headchecks

i want to do so many things to you.           i want to touch you, run my hands against you,      pull your hair, make you moan but i will never make love to you                     my fingers laced with yours,           or your fingers tight on my neck      whatever you prefer— it will never be love.

pushed against the wall                          teeth and tongue           “you are nothing to me,”                i say, and i drag my palms across your milk white thighs           “then why are you so into this?”                you say, clawing me ever closer,      my breasts pressed against you,      my weight crushing.

i bite your tongue, push you over,                and for the first time in this           hate/hate relationship,

i have complete control.