Flesh

Should I call you by another name?
I barely feel the tide in me
anymore. I am wrong by that; I break
convention, but your image is fuzzy. I
swell with indifference.

You slap me for your pound of
flesh; your palm flies through my
right cheek like an invisible bird. I
miss you. You could rock me away
from a world not sinning.

I call you a secret summer fling;
Arms squeezing the air out of me; difference
between external and internal pressures, you said.
You bent me over to explode, but as a
fling should, I lost your form.

There is a fine-shaped rag in my mouth,
slut.