The Final Fuck: The Parting of Legs and Ways

You said it was over.

Accepting of this.
Accepting of you.
I never could say no to
your bizarre requests.
And so, a parting of our ways
includes a parting of
my thighs.



No blood or sweat.
Just tears.

Come then say goodbye.

And as your urgency grows and
presses into my belly,
so does the notion that
I am being
fucked goodbye.

Emotions emerging from
blackened jeans
and I give you the last of me.

A wet, warm place in which to enter,
a long, hard way
to say we're through.

You never knew the way to
my heart,
taking this route over and over
like a misguided traveler.
Yet I guide you into me knowing
this will not last,
nor will we.

Plummeting into the depths of
warm stirring waves,
I am convinced you are trying to
reach my mind.
Convinced you are probing me
to know what I am
thinking.

Coming means going
and that is all I know.

I know with this fond farewell,
I am truly fucked.
Mind, body and soul.

You flip me over to take the
road less traveled,
and my gentle curves provide
the map that leads you home.

Home, to where I bleed.
Home, to where I need.

While pulling my red and raven locks,
I pretend you are pulling me
back into your life.

Pull harder and call me "bitch",
how dare I leave you.
Pull harder and say my name.
How dare I walk out that door...

Pull harder...
and leave behind a souvenir of
seed and sorrow
that you plant in this,
my rainforest.

When the door clicks in the lock,
I play in my puddle of you.
Splashing in the rain of
white ribbon on my
satiny blue bed.

I cannot see beyond the waters
that flow from my eyes,
my thighs.

And then, the realization,
I've been fucked goodbye.





©2001 by Cher Ladd-Tushiah

quiet in here

it's quiet in here.
candles flicker,
and my fingertips quicken.
quivering and
tremulous.
i watch the wax drip
down the long, hard taper.

it's quiet in here.
no one is around,
the soft hum of the
machine in my hand,
the only thing
that can satiate
my lust.
It's more than
I can stand.

it's so quiet in here, baby.
and i think of you.
with every fleeting glimpse
in my mind,
my legs part,
just a bit more than before.
Wide open, exposed,
vulnerable and wet.

so quiet, baby.
so very quiet.
my breath comes fast,
just before i do.
my breasts rise and fall,
riding the waves of
this crazy, quiet moment.
putting my own hand,
over my open mouth
in order to
stifle the cry.
shhhh.
it's so quiet, baby.
my skin shivers,
my thighs tighten and
the dam explodes,
without a sound.
a crashing waterfall.
slick reservoir.
The candle wax drips and
so do I.

it's so quiet.
so sweetly quiet.
and i drown here,
alone.
fire extinguished,
flickers and dies.
i sit in the quiet,
waiting for a moment to pass
and the encore to begin.



©2007 by Cher Ladd-Tushiah

addiction

Stay.
I need you to stay.
Please.
I know what I said.
I know what my doctor said.
When withdrawing from an opiate,
you do it slowly.
You breathe through it.
One slow inhale at a time.
And when you can't stay away from the drug,
they take it from you.
They make you go through the fever, the chills, the shakes.
They make you feel like you want to die.
I have so few vices in my life.
No secrets in my glass box.
Open book.
The author often pens a vague epilogue,
an obscure prologue,
or a dedication that no one else but
they would understand.
And if my book gets published and says,
please stay.
You'll know.
I don't know how to let go.
Not now.
Not just yet.
Possibly, not ever.






©2007 by Cher Ladd-Tushiah