Churned

When I am thus claustrophobic

In your world

(Which you call our world),

I turn to you

And you churn me a bit more

But then you kiss me later, 

And play with my curls

Whispering words of love

Until you are amused enough

And till I quietly forget

The feeling of your frothing spit

On my face and 

in my soul.

Outside the bell-jar

I've heard there's oxygen

Only sluts have a right on.