Color-stay until midnight,
make-shift club in the living room;
strobe pictures of our lives
that everyone sees.
Hair flips and toe nail colors,
all other shades metered
for sex appeal,
dollar worth
on the fantasy market;
attraction sparked
in shadows of dripping
vodka bottles.
Full throttle into flirt,
take off our shirts,
get hotter,
squirt,
and fade.
Black paste rivers through
sunken spaces between
flakes of skin,
melted the same colors
it was last night,
but all those erasers
of imperfection -
the face of a freak
streaked onto the pillow
of an absent stranger
in the middle of his bed,
hung over paintings
of women I'll never be.
Moth or butterfly,
which have I done -
become?
Tuck it, swallow down
the shame I'm about to feel;
yesterday's make-up,
the same old drill;
wake up and get dressed
before he notices
he only has me
on his pillow
|
|
