she says I should never trust her,
all while she can’t stand up
and I’ve fallen over twice:
i’m grappling for her cunt
and fumbling badly: pulling pubic hair.
she’ll give me whatever, she tells me,
she really does love as much as she can,
do I know?
I know. I really do know and feel…
and the way she stabs at my cock
asking for me in full slur, slapping,
leaves me knowing just how it feels
to rise with butterflies
and sleep with morning glories
and all the time walking
above new blooms under the feet.
but i’m not so foolish to trust her,
no, just foolish enough to believe
all the fears away;
limply trying to push myself
into her very tight hole,
I know enough to know,
i slip in and say to her,
that you’re real
and Havanna is not.