May 11, 2012

Seven Minutes In Heaven

It's a tilt of a head or an eyebrow,
and, hey, somebody, watch my drink.
There's something I got to take care of,
be back soon, don't worry about me.

& the jukebox is singing addiction,
& I hear him follow behind
& I swing like I'm working a strip joint
& the lock on the door works just fine

& the tumblers click like a snicker
& the slam of the door is a cry
& the fluorescent hiss is a whisper
& the knob's digging into my spine

& the tiles are cool as forgiveness
& the light is unblinking as greed
& his mouth is hot as a furnace
& my mouth is hungry as God

& he's watching my face in the mirror
& I'm watching his hands on my thighs
& he's taking me like a prisoner
& I'm taking him like a prize

& my breath is a broken hosanna
& his growl is a groveling beast
& his truth is in every profanity
& my hair is a snarl in his fists

& his skin is my cant and my canvas
& my limbs are his wreath and his ring

& his bones are my cage and my castle

& my flesh is his kill and his king

& my teeth are deep in his shoulder
& his fingers sink in where they're splayed
& I know I'll find bruises tomorrow
& I'll want them back when they fade

Then, we make our way back to normal,
with his echo still combing my blood,
and I wonder if anyone heard us,
but the juke is still playing. Real loud.

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