Forced Rhymes: An Ode to Fist-Fucking [what the subtitle said]

Forced Rhymes: An Ode to Fist-Fucking

On the concrete we made soft as a bed,
your fingers feathering and my clutching
rips your shirt. Sorry I’m not, but I said
I was sorry. The sound like your touching

unmaking me each stitch by stitch by stitch.
Your fingers in time, my frayed jerking hips.
I tell you that I could tell we would fit
From the first kiss you stole with flagrant lips.

And I hate to rhyme, and that last one sucked,
Forced punctuation, the high makes me blunt.
You and your sugar fist, with which you fucked
up so many faces, and now my cunt.