I want to be the girl who stains your  

sheets in her absence, sprayed with  

the thought of my thighs wrapped around  

your head. Drip 

 drip  

dripping  

between your lips and grip 

 grip 

 gripping  

your hair  

to steer your mouth  

right  

right  

right  

there.  

I hope you sleep in  

the nude and your parents smell me  

when they barge into the room – that scent  

is the memory of me kissing  

you  

so  

deep 

and twirling my tongue  

against the rise  

of your collarbones.  

It’s innocent and out of control  

you keep me trapped; I’ve trapped you  

into trapping me in your head where 

I’ll swirl round 

 and 

round  

until you’re dizzy  

and s p a c e d out,  

just when you think 

you can’t take another second 

of imagining my nails sliding 

down  

your  

back,  

you twitch yourself awake  

wondering what happened to the nausea 

to the kneading need in your stomach  

to let go, to 

explode

and you did  

and it’s a mess, and it’s sticky but it  

hasn’t hardened quite yet 

so you groan and place your feet  

on the cold floor, wishing instead  

to still be wrapped up in me  

but you must drag yourself to the bathroom 

inconspicuously stuff your pockets  

with tissue, hang 

       your 

                  head in shame,  

because you thought a little too long 

about the girl, and I’m the girl  

who even in her absence leaves your sheets 

covered in stains.