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Loving you is my addiction.
I need your lust
beyond comprehension.
I hang,
suspended,
in the unbearable
stretch
of
time
between your call,
your affection,
your erection,
your coming
(and) departure;
wishing you were all mine
not hers,
not going home to what you have
publicly claimed as yours.
(Did I overlook my invitation to your wedding?)
I am dreading the swallow of the new taste of you,
wondering if the scent of your dedication will leak through
But when I recall from whence we have come
I am elevated to a crescendo of hope.
For
your body is my dope
I am hooked
on your teasing tongue,
the dripping saccharine that flows
through your poetic words
coagulating like your multiple comings
in the back of my throat,
the insolvable stain you leave my brain
every time your tenderness
beckons you back to my beastly domain
This addiction is my affliction
a fatal phenomenon
that will not end
for we have both know lust in its most incurable form
I do not want to forget.
I do not need to forgive.
You can not sin inside me.
We accept.
We ascend.
Don’t wear anything.
No clothing, no condom, no title.
This is Ghetto Love and you are fully entitled
‘cause we “g” back.
It is real
It is ghetto
It it simple.
I am your temple
and you are a parishioner
here.
Jessica Holter
Writing as Ghetto Girl Blue
Jessica Holter
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