by mark bibbins
Life is inevitably disgusting

We couldn’t get near the bathroom
with all the models
holding back their hair
over the bowls.
The chef barely knew how to fling
parsley, so in the end no one mourned
the hors d’oeuvres’ demise.
The champagne was another story.
A great mystery
to me as well you should be,
your legs seemed longer when
you cartwheeled under streetlights.
—Straddle me and I’ll give you
all the scandal, all the sugar.

—Exactly what might one do
with all the sugar anyway?
Caress may still be the right word,
the streets dark and aflash
with rain sliding through the city
on its way. A third party wants
in, that warmth. You love
the noise stars make when they fall.
In the morning we are knocked around
by the wind of approaching trains.
You play the drawn-on eyebrow,
you play the figure-me-out—
I’d like something too,
to tear at me.

0 thoughts on “slutty

  1. it plays like a pretentious perfume commercial in my head.
    that this is even titled ‘slutty’ in the first place makes some part of me want to puke it into the cabode, not glamorously like the models from the one stanza. that has to be one of the most pointless words the english language could’ve offered the world. not that i necessarily think the english language is otherwise catchy.
    now i’m simon cowell. oh well.

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