By Skylar Camp
the windows are down and the wind rips through my hair
my music is loud and it covers the car’s squeaks and rattles
this is the closest to euphoria I’ve been in a long long time
it’s daylight and I’m in your bed and your hand is on my throat
I hear your low laugh as I gasp and arch my chest toward yours
all I want is your body on me, in me, your moans in my ear
your teeth on my nipple, I writhe and tell you harder, harder
squeeze your arm—I can’t tell if this hurts in a good way or a bad way
what difference does it make; there is no euphoria without pain
Skylar Camp (she/her) lives in Columbus, Ohio, with her two young kids, her partner, and their fuzzy kitty. Her writing focuses on deconverting from Evangelical Christianity, divorce, polyamory, parenting, and more. Her work appears in Bi Women Quarterly, The Broadkill Review, and JAKE. Find her at skylarcamp.com.
