She bit her thick, foreign tongue and watched
as he took a sharp hit of curvaceous steel.

I cleaved straight through that pretty
blue-grey eye, taking iris and slick white flesh
as coolly and sweetly as any other young girl
in an aging matriach's house.

The lady has no soft damask shelter
dark enough to mask her heartbreak from me.

After smoothing the new sheets of a European bed,
she fingers the glossy pages of a dirty magazine, saying,
This is what all boys do.

They become men,
and they make new mothers.