The meal I last ate rests low in my belly. I hear the drone of his fluorescent lights. His frigid bathroom tiles indent my knees. I hold back my own hair, and I crouch in front of his toilet, my altar. My altar. I think, this is my altar and I worship by sliding two fingers down my own throat. He kneels next to me, gazes at me. He always swarms like a gnat on spoilt meat to watch me worship. I study our reflection in the water below. He rubs spheres into my back. I vomit till I’m hollow.
Now, I’ve brushed my teeth and we are fucking. Once, he said he likes to fuck me when I am hollowed because I have more space for compassion and his penis goes farther up my cunt. I know he’s worried one day I’ll discuss this with strangers on the internet.
Now, we are finished fucking and his penis softens, wilts. He exits me, and when he turns over I watch his prism shoulder blades rise and fall, bones straining the skin. I don’t sleep. I lie there and wait for the sun. I lie there
and wait for the next heaving.