The Screamer
She warned me on the first night. Said she gets loud.
I said I could handle it. She looked proud,
Amused at my confidence. You haven’t heard me yet,
She said. And she was right — the audacity
Of her volume defied what a throat should do.
She hit notes no soundproofing could pursue.
First time she came, the shriek landed in my sternum,
Traveled through bone. A sermon,
In the key of fuck-yes at a hundred and ten decibels.
Sounds I never heard from any woman before or since.
She will make you wince.
She warned me on the first night. Said she gets loud.
I said I could handle it. She looked proud,
Amused at my confidence. You haven’t heard me yet,
She said. And she was right — the audacity
Of her volume defied what a throat should do.
She hit notes no soundproofing could pursue.
First time she came, the shriek landed in my sternum,
Traveled through bone. A sermon,
In the key of fuck-yes at a hundred and ten decibels.
Sounds I never heard from any woman before or since.
She will make you wince.
I learned to love it. Proof of a job done right,
Delivered at the volume of a gun
Firing beside your ear. She knows no shame, no regret,
No apology to walls or the wet
Paint of her restraint. She is not embarrassed.
She screams because that’s how she came —
Neurologically her climax exits at full blast.
The most beautiful divorce from control I’ve ever witnessed.