The mirror of a flail.
I feel my nipples ripple
Through my blouse
And wishing your hands
Were in place of the whistle
From the ceiling fan
Grazing the baby kisses on my
Neck…
The beauty next to nothing
An auto-biography under her
Ring…a
Something that
What the fuck does she do with this?
Stand still – be there when I look
At you…sweat
Suckle like a baby needing
A piece of the pie
Needles lost in a stack
And…I ain’t going back.
Jen Juice 