you sharpened your wits
and eviscerated me.
must have caught up on some reading,
mouthing my most used vowels
from across the room.
safe distance you always put between me,
yourself, and the ones who warm you
in between; the “friends” you
picked over me, and I’m a tiger
and a mind reader.
I can see and smell fresh blood from
miles away.

but this time it’s my alarmed bowels
dripping from the entrails
while I clutch my missing abdomen
and quickly straighten
the crease that has formed
in my pencil skirt.
my inward ingredients are showing:
I have a penchant for hyperbole and
strong, rubicund drink.
you are outdoing me
in silence, but you too wear your
violence flagrantly.
be proud of the carnivore you are.
I can see it
teeming over your tonsils,
wearing your throat
like the missing bow tie
to your tuxedo lies.
you dress it up, but I can see you naked
next to every
woman you
ever fucked
as the breath falls away from your body,
your toes brush the carpet,
you turn blue as the bay
and I feel heavy like the moon
breaking up with the tides.
I sense your compunction
at having Asian for dinner
over me.
you prefer to be ravished
cuffed to the post
but she can’t tie a proper knot.
my heels clack through the kitchen:
handle out, blade in.
I’ll help her fashion the bleeding noose
that you crave.

it seems you prefer a cathedral
to save you so I become stained glass
and 
my intestines prefer to leave the safety
of their cubby hole
   snip snip
and wear your neck
like a rope.

“confession”

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