Desperate for your mind to be intertwined with mine,
I writhe and thrash into your seductions.
By being intimate we are lying:
pretending to have reached a resolution
-when really all I can feel is acute stinging
of my body and emotions.
Without engaging your feelings,
all I feel is friction;
down: your sciroccian winds are rasping
my spirit and global expectations.
All the power games, belittling,
Dry and raw I feel exhaustion,
because I always end up submitting,
to your reduction:
of me to a body for fucking.