Out to the Races

I dreamt that I ate your girlfriend’s pussy last night.
We were in the room of my childhood home
and she asked if I would do her a favor
and I tried to say “no” but she convinced me to keep going
and I started to work
and manipulate the tender folds of flesh, odorless
and wet.

She came in revolutions like racecars making checkpoints around a track, giving me
the spectator’s desire for an impending pile up. Her hips raising to signal the dropping of flags signifying the end of a lap, hers.
I felt her pressure against my face like it was real.

Fingers inserted, the heaviness tremendous,
enough to decapitate a deep sea diver
and as she came that last checkered flag-time, her clit,
the malformed head of her penis that never was,
got caught on the corner of one of my two front teeth
and it felt like chewing gristle. We finished

and I reared back to survey the damage, “you’re bleeding,” I said. The blood collected in a bead
against her still inflamed skin
and she said, “oh” as if she hadn’t noticed.

I awoke to a pounding on my door,
I awoke to no one beside me.