Give a Man a Boner

Give a man a boner and he’ll take a mile.  If your hands are on me and I say GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME sometimes I mean that’s what I am supposed to say so my mouth makes the sounds that they should and my body sort of twists away in a futile attempt at escape.  Your hands still find their way because they are hunting dogs and the scent is all over me and I don’t know the safe word.  Give a man a boner and he’ll take a mile.  There are windows and there are doors.  Some rooms have broken lights and some have ripped up carpet. There are photo frames lying shattered on the dirt floor of a back basement.  I want to see the faces of the people in the photographs because I like when people who had lived happy lives are now crumpled, dirty, torn and wet in a place where nobody fucking cares about them.  Where they are forgotten.  I want to stand over them and say, not so happy now ARE YOU and then grind my boot heel into the paper that holds their moment.  Give a man a boner and he’ll take a mile.  Then there’s you and how you let me fold myself into how you hold me.  You are seven feet tall if you are a foot.  I never tell you but I want you to take me up against a wall.  I want to shake old boxes loose, let the special things they were saving spill into the filth.  I want frames to fall hard to the floor. I need to fuck over broken glass and happy faces.  Give a man a boner and he’ll take a mile and I hate that I’m sometimes okay with that.