Richard King Perkins II
The distance between us
is an arm’s length;
that which you call intimacy
but what I taste as a regression of infinities
as I’m pulled to the floor
where I suckle mouth-distorting pleasure
in the wrongness
of all that we’re doing.
If I was looking for a deadly kitten
without emotional ties and regard
then I found her
paddling in a bitter ocean, a wet desperation
fighting a war by proxy,
inexplicably purring for all of this and more.