I sat in your car
next to her
(she smelled of peaches)
listening to your
idle wild talk.

That mouth of hers,
it moved erotically,
like two great wisps
of honey suckled
aloe vera gel,
ready to kiss me
cleaned and healthy
to make my mind
stop tap-tapping
against my thin skull
(the beat dies without her voice).

She's like a staccato
reliant but unforgivable
once she's stuck in your head.
We fought
through the tangles
of her savage hair.

Your thin lips
(which I once dreamed of)
spoke to me;
false reassurance.
Your words fell
onto my flogged back;
they were my weak stitches.

The girl loved you,
though you said
you wanted us both.
Eventually your true
inner fox demon
rose to bear its teeth.

Your loyalties lied in her
eucalyptus eyelashes
where you lazily sway among
her bird nests of silver filth.

(all the time
I reached my lips up
you pinched them together
to sew them shut).

I desire you both
wanting to snip
the rose of her
out of your bushes.

Poinsettias rain down
their burning leaves
to cover me up
and let me steam
as I stare at her
all over you,
every putrid lie
that drips from
your crocodile tongue.

But as of now
I'll sit in your car
(hey girl, jim morrison
is never outta style)
between the two of you
wishing I could have
her just to spite you.