Lust

His suit so sharp

But his knife is sharper

But he doesn’t flash it as much

He pulls out his bankroll more often

It isn’t wet with the blood of the last back it was in

And it pays for drinks

 

At party’s I mingle and smalltalk

Pitter patter go the feet of the mice

But he sits there in the corner

His drink is cold but his hands are warm

And I can smell his breath on my neck when I’m flirting

Nice legs he says, though he doesn’t really care

He looks for the cheap smiles and the sideways glances

Prancing around the party in his snakeskin boots

Seeing the torn dresses and the easy laughs

The falcon cannot hear the falconer

And seeing his prey he makes the kill

And so I awake in unfamiliar beds

With stains that I cannot wash away

 

But I live for the moments of realness

When his smirk slips and my pulse quickens

Though my pupils do not dilate and my hands stay dry

She might be honest

She might be clean

She might be plain

 

But she puts him in his corner

His velvet throne

And he sits twitching

Cleaning his bloodied knife