#4

I hated going to the hotels

with one entry and emergency exits.

Overnight rooms we only rented for

a few hours, clouded in body pollution.

Fuck it, I thought. I lit cigarettes

in the non-smoking rooms,

as I hit the ignore button

on my cell phone.

 

it was his birthday

 

We went to an Irish bar all the way

across the valley, three cities over

and he showed me pictures of his

girlfriend dressed up like a slutty

school girl.  Seven drinks later,

he told me he wanted to marry me,

I grew more powerful, pulling

the strings of lust tightly

around his insecure dick.

 

 

He looked at the dirt on my knees

and at my mouth, like it was some

magical weapon that I used in trickery

to pull him from his woman

and throw money away on

short-lived hotel visits, like

I was the devil from his dreams,

on his shoulder, in his pants,

breathing tropic heat all

over his neck.

 

He didn't have any type of God.

 

His woman wrote me a letter

about how I was too pale, too thin,

how my tits were too big.  I flushed

it down the toilet at work. He told

me he loved me but of course not.

I was nothing more than a row of

triple x's across his palms and

the giant, destructive boulder

smashing down on them

in the form of the other woman.