her stomach hollows out sometimes,
but you never hear it cry out in the sort
of desperate plea that you think
her body ain't a kingdom and her heart sure
ain't an oasis, but she's got
the body of an hourglass (not that she knows how
to tell her own time.)
the bathroom door is always
locked when you get home, and she never fails
to keep her secrets just
as tucked away in her bosom as she does you
away from her misery.
she never lets you buy her clothes
because it seems that she never ever wears her
all they do is swallow her up in a pitied
attempt to kill her off.
besides, your pockets are heavier
when she doesn't weigh so much.
her voice is so soft now.
she never speaks--too afraid to start a war from
you like her better than your ex who
spit fire and brimstone at you, and never once would
shut up while you fucked
her into seeing white.
her daddy was always a rich man,
which is why she's got magazines of pretty girls--
not her--strewn all over
your bathroom floor. which is
okay with you because
sometimes you picture yourself
marrying this girl, and when you do,
money is always a simple answer.
but the girl's got
just as many daddy issues as any other
crazy girl you dated.
you're pretty damn sure that when her mouth's
pouring over your cock, tongue
like a hurricane, that she's thinking of
her daddy. maybe even while
she's riding against you, with nothing but the sound
of slapping skin in the air,
she's thinking of how goddamn much she
you wouldn't touch her ever again.
and you love it.