The divorce of thought.

Camionneuse is loved, she knows, but when she touches herself, she is alone in the dark.

The thoughts that coax her arousal are fleeting and sudden, the flutter of eyelashes on a cheek, the rush of sensation and prickle of pain on yielding, white jelly thighs, firm with fear. When she is alone she hangs on for dear life, for alone, she shoulders the entirety of her orgasm, the brief extent of her beautiful agony.

Wholeness makes her shudder, connection causes her to come in gaping, gasping spurts.

The hot heat of hands holding.

Fingers down throats down bodies down on knees, bended and looking toward the sky lilywhite necks in prayer beseeching.

Heads banging, minds clanging, grocery lists with the handwriting of two pens.

She trusts that the world is not so big that it will swallow the scrape of smooth teeth on the inside of her cheek, that the insistent probing and pushing on her clitoris is a significant throe of energy and love. She trusts and she turns off the light and closes the door. Damn the distance, damn the people, damn the statutes thick and engorged and immortalized in books that wrench them apart.

She swallows some of that good love stuff, that sweet and stiff affection, and it drips in sticky strips down her skin settles in her clavicle, the bell-hollow that bangs against the headboard when she hangs on for dear life and dips her chin over the edge. Work ebbs from her spine and she sinks into the solidity of direction, The Connection, her mind erect and assuming perfection. Let Chapter 208 show you where you can crane your fingers to make her bubble and moan. Fuck the loopholes of Section 24, eat your mensa and your thoro and fall asleep in my arms.

God, it’s like ripping the wound open with her own bitten nails again, five years old and oily in the bottom of her belly, comingled with the full, pregnant contentment she feels every time there is a “bing!” at her side. She loves me, the law loves them not, it whispers in her ear. The daughter becomes the divorce, and the two counterbalance and negate each other. So she shall go in light on her feet, so shall she leave dragging, but what awaits on the other side beacons her with light, love, and the pursuit of beauty in the shade.

-C.

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