smiling you keep me in soundproofed closets and you
know that where you left me is exactly where
you'll find me again tomorrow night because I'm
still on my knees with my face in your ***** laundry inhaling you like a drug,
feral and half-dressed, having
draped every bedsheet I could
tear down from your shelves over the mirror, and
when you

come back I'll have scratched out every divine marking on my
body so you can grip my legs in the crooks of your elbows without guilt-- (you wouldn't even
need that, would you, but I'll have
done it anyway) and I'll
close my eyes and ***** your words into my
eardrums diluting my cranial fluid with animal pleasure blackening
the whites of my eyes and turning my extremities gangrene until
all I feel is your tongue, and

early Sunday morning you'll leave me crumpled, not
breathing, in puddles
on the hardwood, close the
door and
slip quietly into
bed with your wife, and, yes, it's wrong but you're
depraved, spoken like an exoneration because you’re already
******* the judge, and she’ll be
on her knees on Monday like an addict,
tying your underwear into a noose