I Know What Part of You I Own

Your filth. Your need. Your sin.

She gets her perfect husband. I get the parts too dirty to even admit out loud that they exist. You fuck me like you can't get enough, like you weren't just here. You moan like it hurts to hold it back. And I open for it all: the filth, the guilt, the kind of need you can't sate anywhere else.

So, let's not pretend.I know why you're here.I know what part of you I own.