he's back.
his smirk slaps me.
i burn at the sound of
pennies tinkling in his
suit pocket, he laughs.

he's thirsty again for those
sweaty tumblings in the dark-
after some point i just stop
the coy come-hither routine.

weary with the plastic Barbie
at home, he said.
weary of heaving grunts in the
cigarsmoke stench, i said.

his insulting tinkling
silences me.

lust, or even greed dried up sometime
when he started to forget to say darling
and caressing turned to snarling.

he waves goodbye mockingly
from the limo burning neon
then fades into the city fog.

i sleep curled up in the bed that
reeks of his sweat, and hug the
biscuit tin filled with his money.

it feeds

a girl in the next room
that looks at me
with his brown eyes.