you lay me in the backseat of your sports car
body flush against me, tangle of limbs as hands grasp
nothing tangible, your body passed through me like a ghost
the old painful haunting of a memory playing in my mind
projected, big screen my eyes growing distant as you crept into my body
the thief in the night, alcohol breath
enough to make a girl wince
domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping
my eyes sting too, reminded of a pain
your man hands, big hands
calloused from work a girl like me will never know
pawing at the impure skin
big hands, man hands
the force a ripping now too real
working to take something
domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping
her cries harmonizing with mine
one that threatens to break glass, our aria of suffering as you split me in half
rending me in a way so whole yet incomplete
pain without the tender kiss of pleasure
man, all man, all terrifying unholy man
and as you pull me out of the backseat you ask
“was this your first time?”
“yes,” i lie
and domina, purissima, immaculata sits in the front seat weeping