the shy girl with bed bent hair
and those overly coveted wire hung shoulders
shudders in his armchair, hands
rough and churning at the polished
leather in his male and fur scented study.
maybe that's just another lover in the family
room on the other side of the closed door and
decapitated doe, or maybe it's some ringed
mother whose hissing voice is
digging at her ears. she can't think,
swan neck pouncing left and right
as her head says "no, no" ...
"i didn't mean to do anything bad" but
those rooster red lips stay close
and touching, because she knows-
"no, no", she knows even good girls
have sin in their blood.

and the slur in her throat, that
choking of hastily swallowed air,
can't save her from the wanting,
and the satisfaction she acheived.
she loves the challenge of another woman's eyes,
that reaching, hungry stare of a
green snake in heat.

and it's a jungle out there, beyond her
graveyard sanctuary, where the animals
are dead and glossy gazed, heads
straining against plaster and phantom limbs ripping
at the underworld.

the lion king and his cobra queen
can have their show of strength,
because she doesn't want the venom for herself.
but now she's trapped in his cage of concrete and skin,
waiting for the feast to begin.

and it's a forest in suburbia,
where mating calls and feathers rise
up in moist swirls of lust. here the tigers
heave with pretty starlings and elephants
trist with sparkling butterflies,
because beauty rules, and
nothing
mates for life.