Boil down inside this slack armed slaughter house.
Sharp finger nails run up a thigh,
leave scratches for other lovers, victims, to admire.
Hair pulls a head back.
Dreams of early morning melodies slashed like paper cuts.
Outside the bedroom door
a single cockroach waits.
Ready to run over our naked backs.
I promised to take both hands to her neck until
sound inside her stopped.
I try to sleep, sure that labored breathing...