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yours for a night and a twenty dollar bill.
by Rachelle Howepinned beneath sinewy hands,
she wracked with shivers and description.
lust had given way to carnal apathy,
those interludes with which
she'd sneak out under false pretense.
when they buried themselves
in her sternum, womb, throat,
she cowered and said,
fill me, fill me, like the whore, the slut
who can swallow.
a rage of white laced her tongue and face,
breasts covered by ejaculations.
(when they finished, she showered,
and tried to scrubscrubscrub off the grit
that boys and dollars
could leave behind.) 09/19/2004 Author's Note: once agan, blame rebecca parker.
Posted on 09/20/2004
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe
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