My pillow is not a love letter you read to fall asleep.
I am not obligated to let you use it, in fact, let’s just do what we came here to do so that you leave. There are stories hidden in those creases, there, wet sobs dried and screams were muffled from orgasms and heartbreaks. Stories i’ve whispered to the monsters that live under my bed. I can only give you so much of me. Do not take what you are not offered, but here, use the pillow.
I become goddess in these sheets, they are my shrine and you come to pay homage. Remember that, bring along tithes. I am the wet tides your loins gallop into to quench thirst.
Beware of your surroundings, I am not to be played with. See my eyes? My eyes are portals to other dimensions. Do not be afraid to get lost in them, to revel in their mystery, do not be too confident though. You might get swallowed into a black hole.
See my legs? They go on and on, right up to the meeting of my thighs. My skin is softest at the inner parts , where your bearded chin and sideburns tickle me while you polish my diamond with your tongue. Have I ever told you about the tremors that shoot down my legs before welcoming an earthquake that brings about a flood. That is how you know the Gods are pleased.
When I can fall asleep next to you breathing the same air. When I know my secrets are safe in all the children that swam down my throat. When all the grinding back and forth doesn’t erode the mutual respect we have for each other. As long as my waters don’t run dry, you are welcome to visit the haunted bits of the left side of my bed.