Forging Through Sickness

I awake in an ocean of pillows
He is still speaking of summer
Does the heat make you behave badly?
I breathe in his throaty yessss
And suddenly I feel parched
Drowning in the sweaty Sahara of cotton
And his overuse of drug-store cologne
Cheap. Dirty. No high expectations.
A kiss on my neck that tells of things to come
The evening of extravagant delight
Where is my lipstick? I feel much too young
Darkness is supposed to evoke pleasure
All it does for me is deepen my paranoia
He rubs my shoulder, index fingering my throat
I wait for the cued "I love you"
Instead, "I love what you do to me"
Please, don't romance novel your way inside
No more of this banana splitting my ego
Simply fix me. Fix me with your fingers
I slide my palms down his rolling Irish hills
While we're both thinking of someone else

Cramping, potential vomiting, fetal position. Grounded, am I still grounded? This will soon pass (it always does). At least, I hope so.