She's
telling me with the utmost sincerity
that she's
never actually been fucked
and I’m
thinking of all the ways I’ve been
more than
horizontal or posed for optimal
depth (I’m
talkin' tenderized by 18
road torn
wheels) so
I get stupid
and tell her
the finer
details of a rumored
affair she'd
already accepted as fact,
entertained
how he'd fuck her
(ah, the
gentle beast, salivating in rations,
no brands of
his conquerings
I had once
dressed to spare the animal
his
freedom--),
when two
black cats distract;
they seek no
shelter, they don’t meow.
They’re just
standing there
as I wet the
tongue of her
curiosity.
I dug in
back pockets
for any applicable
metaphors
but the cats
were just cats
as the night
was just as any other
and I still
haven't learned
how to keep
my mouth shut.
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