Spatter

I thought I was not a regular squirter.

But, with this additional highlight, we can both see.

It has sprayed everywhere.

The raspberry rippled puddle on the failed protection of the towel,

A splatter pattern on the surrounding sheet,

Both pairs of hands and the tulip, stained red and tacky.

Crimson finger-printed contusions on my thighs and butt cheeks.

Our matching go-faster stripes from belly to groin.

Pubic hair sticky and matted.

The scene of an axe murder.

CSI would be having a field day.

And this is what defines us.

Where perhaps, in other circumstances, we might wait until another day.

Needs must…