The client fights his gag begs me to stop.
He’s forgotten his word the one he chose.
I never had a word. His agony blooms & sweetens
like a four o’clock flower. Another afternoon of violence
more cries of never-enough.
The tree outside my window leans left, shaped
by the wind of a ruined city. I lie flat on my bed,
a paper doll crafted by others. But now my body is my own,
I can do whatever I like with it.
On stage I bare my breasts, surf the crowd, they tear my dress
& bruise my legs. After the show, I lean on his shoulder
we share cold beer & cigarettes. He touches my cheek & reminds me
of how tender hands can be.