Knock Knock Love

Love and the fascade of it

Your eyes were dry and scratchy across me,

my lips, like sham pillows lain taught,

on my skin like a strict hotel bed, to be dirtied.

Stitched up lies kept sealed and mended, by my own hands

Uptight and virginal.

To be hauled away,

by the hard working kind pulled by their troubles sighing down the long hotel corridors,

to bed washed with the other pillowed lips and heaping stains from their lovers.

Real couples don't make a mess, they hide in routine.

I'm a real girl, I stitch up my own lips and keep 'em coming. But I hear their regiment words through the wall, they hear the knock knock love that pounds for more.