Pedro Juan

There's good reason why you shut down for a second
and forget that they're dancing around you.
Their rhythm is stale
so you dip your fingers
thinking of the tattoo on my chest
and let them slide across my lips
as I walk by.
I don't turn around,
but I know you wish I would.

I've felt your feet under the table,
your breasts in the elevator,
smelt your sex
watched you bruise your own lips
yet you still hand yourself over
to security
which is not something that Pedro Juan tastes.

That's why I reach for the whip
and spit in your face
I pull your hips in when you try and wriggle away.
I leave you tied up whilst I refresh
with a cigarette that I won't let you smoke.
I know what it is to need.

It is important to need.
It is essential that you are driven wild.
Yet you whore yourself out
to the comfort of a driveway
and the rent paid.
You whore yourself out
and kill the whore.

They can say what they like about whores
but they move like nothing else.
A waste of a prick is what you lay with,
and it makes you hungry.
But I am Pedro Juan
and I too know what it is to need.