Simple Pleasures Torture
after Katsuragi Misato

I think about him at night.
Sometimes, when I can't rest, I sneak
to his room, slide open the door, and watch
him pretending to sleep. He stares at the wall,
lost in the low hum cellos of his headphones,
his soft escape from
the dark
the cold
himself.
My fingers ache to brush through
his short brown hair, to hold his head
in my lap and stop the pain. My body craves his,
he is my love,
he is my child,
he is my faith.
Cold, dark, alone in his tiny lovely suite.
Fever heat spreads between my legs as I
take his hand in mine, cover his mouth with mine
eager
wanting
his boy lips, cold and timid.
I can feel him, repulsed.
I pull away, my eyes wide,
I hear my heart beat
doki doki
I slip away, close the door, close out the temptation
of my weak, lascivious flesh,
and take a deep breath.
I am his guardian again. I am his parent,
his empty barren mother.
I can never take him into my womb.
I slip back to my room, lay on my empty bed
with my hands pressed against my lips,
and wait for tomorrow night.