you taste of second-hand sin, he tells me

(oh so poetic)

and i laugh, and say:

'well, my granddad is an alcoholic;

and my aunt tried to kill herself once,

one time'

(i had a schizophrenic uncle, too,

but i don't mention this – when he heard voices,

he used to touch me,

just so)

he thinks of me as:

inside flash of white thigh

perfume overlaid with smoke

a curve of shoulder that fits (just so)

and

i think of me as:

dirty

(just so)