The Worst Sex

You: " If you liked it, you can write a poem about it. I genuinely enjoy being inside of you. What did you think about when we slept together? I thought it was hot.”

The PTSD is you: the dead reminiscence

And, menacing man, I know it's truly you

Because your bright shadow shimmers in my cycle-of-abusers' eyes

Your gingerly countenance skates their hush-hush lips

Your bittersweet charm skips in their sweet-and-sour swagger

Being what I never wanted you to be: permanence

They recognize the grinning destruction in me to be you: their sinful kinsman

Flashback flings: unwillingly reliving your reviling, which was transgressed against higher instruction

Your seduction really as induction to cast-down my imaginations

Coercive woe bringing our self-exalting activities into carnal captivity

Once edified, your darkness shot a headstrong stronghold, conceiving a void of a contrite heart

The color red and then The Color Purple: "He just climb on top of me and do his business".

I came to mourn you, not moan you

You impressed an empty chasm where an orgasm should have been

You were my original sin, not my first self-granting arrogant discretion

Only you know your moves but you never felt good

Tempestuous temptation, you were nothing but unfruitful pain inside of me

A reprobate mind

Electrocuted by your evil eyes

You're better with your clothes on

Unlike your house, I don't leave God's house disappointed and disempowered