in the park

we sit with blue-black sharpies and scribble inverse pentagrams

on cement sidewalks. they are populated by four-year-olds

with baby curls and chubby cheeks.

hail satan, you write. all hail the prince of darkness. in your loopy cursive

it conquers the chalk drawings created by the kids.

ants stride along the bold blue lines and a matron clutching a baby and a old black purse

glares at us and crosses the street to avoid us (crossing herself).

quick laughter and you trace the star tattoo on the web

between my thumb and index finger.

read my face like poetry and just as quick straddle me with a hand up my white shirt.

nothing sexual.

you trace a heart and your name on my stomach. later you'll carve my own name

into the pale flesh of your abdomen with a bread knife and ink.

hail satan, i write on my binders in blue-black sharpie with the matching pentagrams.

shivering letters and minute script; no one else can read it

but you.