just a fling, a flit, a flicker
an aestival attraction of the worst sort
I�ll never love you�
�but if you touch me deep�in my mind of bleak inanition�
will your fingers stain red the blue of my blood, my skin?
your kiss may cut me
(sandpaper against my lacy white collar)�
�I had seen all my mistakes
With torrid aching I snuggle against your filth
Your eyes are mad with sex, with drink�a vatic expression,
appraising the arc of my breast, the line of my thigh.
you rip off my skin�
�7pm and I still smell of you
I worry you�ll not be so easy to wash away.