Her whimsical features broach the crocheted cerise of night.
Over the bed she loons- a clothesline of conflagration.
Her voice is hoarse.
She slurs pathogens and imperatives under the bed sheets,
while blood flecks my freckled cheeks.
“Get up.”
She dons a corset of ivory and silver- it’s razors lick the bed sheet cotton.
White knuckle grip on the switch.
The rabbits bifurcate through the church yard in frantic sprints.
Her lean visage pirouettes down a mucous slathered sidewalk.
She tip toes over perched steel traps.
She grinds her teeth in rhythm with the needling din of summer insects-
humming with the snagging motion of a lure.
360 degrees around the trunk of a maple.
Her alegrias strut crosses the yard.
“Give me the switch.”
She holds the switch.
She scrutinizes my bare back.
She skillfully whips a simulacrum
sieving blood from my flesh.
On cracked toenails she adagio’s with a hatchet.
The glint is caught by a single bare light bulb.
The empty warehouse is gaseous with dust.
The hatchet wind mills splaying katydids in flight.
Her peripheral examines my restraints.
The pincers clench ankles and wrists.
Gripping her corset my fingers languidly drip.
Razors notch into my digits.
The corset remains buckled.
Her voice is hoarse, she murmurs codas of capitulation.
She levitates and straddles the gaseous warehouse dust.
She lays on my torso and rips flesh amongst my ribs.
Her saliva burns my throat
The hatchet ticks against the corset of razors.
My screaming is drowned in the din of katydids
The warmth of my innards traverse down my thigh
My eyes become ptosis.
My veins a queue of barbs.
My loins a vine of sloughing semen.
My body an obituary…. the redundant panic rises
I try,
god I try;
not to enjoy
it