Poems I’ll Never Send My Tinder Dates: The Rescuer

[This is sexually explicit. CW: Mentions of caning, knife play, chain fisting, watersports, and PTSD.]

*****

*****

to the guy
for whom i was going to write an erotic poem
except
you ghosted me after our 3 overnights:

after you
charmed me with
a calculated sadism
balanced by a wickedly sexy,
affectionate, daddy smile.

after you
vibrated my core,
showed me the secret of
weighing liquid
in troy ounces,
cooked me eggs.

after you said you would
work with me through
my trigger, to
find life past it, where i don’t
have to stop
every time i get so hot
my body rebels.

after you
told me you
“fucked kinky, dated vanilla”
whatever that means…

probably that
you’re actually much
too normal
for me to slut around with after all.

probably that
you give time to the
girls you can take home to mom.
and i promise you,
i don’t wanna meet anybody’s mother
again.

probably that maybe
something didn’t click, that you went
through the motions
(kink dynamo
daddy extraordinaire
sensual sadist)
with amazing efficacy of demeanor
that had me slightly smitten.

probably that
i could see a way
where our two minds could meet
and we could learn
and laugh
and fuck, but
you couldn’t.

but really, i think,
after you saw
red wine, secondhand, on
your white marble floor,
after you saw
my undignified husk,
convulsing, sick and
teary-eyed, on the warm
wood in the bedroom

of your
white picket fence home
next door to soccer moms
who don’t know
you put a chain in my cunt
you put a cane on my ass
you put a knife on my skin.

i don’t think you could un-see it.
i don’t think i could un-feel it:

still, now, retroactively, mortified
that i did this all over again.