He opened my legs and read my mind,
writing machinations that fanned my
I the moth, he the flame.
Then I saw them together.
I said to him:
"Your letters are fat leeches,
sidestepping my brain and boring
holes in my mind. You are a lie."
In reply, he leaned forward,
shook his locks and roared.
Then: "You silly, sexy siren.
I'll call you Bertha."
This evening smells of smoke.
My bedrails are burning,
my white sheets are hot.
Grace, come. I'm afraid of my God.
He calls me a foreign name that tastes bad
and smells like a worm infested brain.
Come maid. Hold me tight and call me Toni.