3
1) The house is old. Our eyes meet and she raises the corner of her lip. Two lionesses. The yard is large and waiting. She paces, calls her partner. Her arm is a mural. They want this place, to fill it with their smell, their heat. We mark territory, scratching at grass with our shoes. I wish bankruptcy on her. I pray for her failure. My bed goes there, in the corner. Her nightstand, her lover's robe. I call them those lesbians. I have not been with a woman in months. I want to taste her. It's just business. I pray for her ruin. I offer wild sacrifices to gods in my yard, dancing for the deal. I dream about moving. I wonder if she lies dying, will her lover be let in. I wonder how she sees me. Straight, yuppie, markless. Willing bad credit onto her. Vodou dances for lost property. It's just business. I want her mouth. I want her dead. I want this place for us, not her and her lover. It's been so long. The things I could do to her.
2)In the fetish club the girl stretches, combats and electrical tape, and I could be a man tonight. The worst kind of man. She dances like I am not watching, and I do not know even what I would do to her, except that it would be pain, and sweat, and her sweet softness. At home, I sleep with you and think of her. Sheet plastic and duct tape. My body's currency. I would never dance like that. I know what these hands can do.
2)In the fetish club the girl stretches, combats and electrical tape, and I could be a man tonight. The worst kind of man. She dances like I am not watching, and I do not know even what I would do to her, except that it would be pain, and sweat, and her sweet softness. At home, I sleep with you and think of her. Sheet plastic and duct tape. My body's currency. I would never dance like that. I know what these hands can do.