It feels right,

When spit flies like communion wine,

The warm ones never melt me,

Perhaps my forge of a coupling is beyond Fahrenheit,

Because I only feel comfort around hate,

Her degrading comments become my Velcro,

I find myself passed down the alter like the chalice,

Alternating partners because I hate it when they show me decency,

I’m a blimp of affection before my quiet escape,

Flagellation of my worth makes me docile enough to not leave.