An orgasm,

As violence,

Torn angry, possessive from a shuddering form,

I curl up, over, on my knees,

And he is there,

And he is taking something from me,

Gasping,

Breathless at the loss of my lungs,

My love for him trailing down my cheeks,

And between my legs,

And bruising my lips,

And he kisses my forehead and tells me to come to dinner.