my turn

always wanted to be
the lover to end it

the cool one
unbothered by

pleas of lets-make-it-work
collecting tears in a glass vase

I prayed:  dear God, make me
David, let me slay the

uber-lover with golden hands,
a mouth to rival Zeus

allow me to pull the sky over  lover's
arrogant head become a nightingale

singing my lover into submission
leave love marks wherever I please

until the flesh is abalone shiny
electric, teased to perfection

and one bite on a trembling lip
becomes fatal

Yes. I will be the one who dips
the bed, hushes the door to

a close
and never returns

and the wounded lover
now obsessed with the

taste of the sea in my mouth.