headchecks

i want to do so many things to you.
          i want to touch you, run my hands against you,
     pull your hair, make you moan
but i will never make love to you
                    my fingers laced with yours,
          or your fingers tight on my neck
     whatever you prefer—
it will never be love.

pushed against the wall
                         teeth and tongue
          “you are nothing to me,”
               i say, and i drag my palms
across your milk white thighs
          “then why are you so into this?”
               you say, clawing me ever closer,
     my breasts pressed against you,
     my weight crushing.

i bite your tongue, push you over,
               and for the first time in this
          hate/hate relationship,

i have complete control.