Scalped

02.01.99
11.30.03

You fold back my labia from my
sullen clit like a charwoman slicking back
greasy, sticky layers of brown paper wrapping
from day old trout. You sniff, suspiciously,
prodding for freshness, waiting for illegitimate
wriggling evidence of life. Waiting for an
excuse to check me, slap me down.
I am being scalped, with all the ensuing
metaphysical horror.

Her Lipstick Mouth

I am remembering the time you let me rub
the knots from the back of your neck in the
middle of senior year economics class. You
complained of tension and I rubbed my thumb
in pressing little circles over muscle bumps
and knotty scars of vertebrae. I wondered
what would happen if I kissed you. You had
the mouth of an 1800’s whore, lipstick
red and swollen wet and full and stretching
round, a mouth meant to suck cock. I
wonder how it would look against my
pussy.