He snarls into her breasts
and inhales the scent
of the man who came
before him.
He is crazy about her
and she knows it.
–
His heart goes
back and forth,
noose-heavy,
a cuckold.
He doesn’t cry
as he once did.
Not outloud.
Not in private.
–
He takes pleasure
in his own precedence;
in the way she returns
without repenting;
in her animal scent;
in their corrosive repertoire.
It’s become a game.
They speak in dark whispers
about dark deeds and he detects
in her mischievous pulse
a strange aversion to love.
–
Deep down she knows
that she would rather
be here with him
in this basement bound
than above ground scavenging.
Her body is a ruse.
Her smile is ambidextrous.
She swallows
crows and stiff-legged lures.
She swallows men by the dozen.
She swallows them whole.
Hollow as a crescent
he owns her.
–
She laughs and he thinks
the sound is like dry leaves
rustling in an intermittent blast.
She laughs and he thinks
of stars in water,
and of asphalt in summer heat.
–
Her thighs slide apart
dangerous and wet.
He enters her like a muse,
bible-heavy,
he begets her
again and again and again.
For: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/02/01/wordle-225/
mindlovemisery 