When I look at you, I see her.
I see – as the Greeks described her – the most beautiful woman in the world.
If you are not a goddess I don’t what is.
Hair flows down your back like the Nile feeds a nation. Body curving in and out. The snake that could make me reach for an apple. Breasts so beautiful I have a hard time knowing whether to put my mouth or hands on them. And between your picturesque legs a garden so powerful it weakens me to think of it. I am Sampson. Your garden is my Delilah.
I see this beauty in you as I think of you. As I see you. As I smell you.
My contradiction of emotions arises when I only want to show my passion by being rough with you. Grabbing you by the throat, squeezing, and fingering you until you buckle and fall to the ground.
How is this so?
That I want to make you suffer in bliss? If you didn’t beg for it I’d be a broken mess. But beg, you do. I yank your hair, slap your face, make you scream when I hate-fuck your tight little ass. And you say, “Please Daddy, Fuck Me Harder.”
The yin to my yang. The white to my black.
You are my Helen of Troy.
Also published on Medium.