but she says it accented;
hug people right when
they walk in the room.
and I don’t know how to
perfect her inflection
but I am now reflecting
on how I have yet to fuck
a man in this bedroom.
better for it, no
interruption in sleep
mostly, mugwort drenched
and drooling, ocean,

this is where men
beg to die, I
stand in front of an
antique writing desk,
riding crop on top,
flogger, feather duster,
the lights are red.

“this,” my arms spread
across the quilt. “is where I
dream of a way out.”
I am back in my bedroom,
practicing gratitude,
understanding conviction
is seventy five percent.
the rest is mere tenacity
to live. 

get on with it then.

the third one I call is Artemis.


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