let’s go to bed. you discussing other lives and me, just listening. you covered my body in a white dress, you’re my refined taste. you talk about palm trees + deserts + hints of holding me, holding me tighter, but tight still. you can imagine a life somewhere in california, with golden handcuffs. hollywood, glamour-puss, you call me; but, i’m not sure if that’s a compliment. my legs are naked, your hand inside my thighs, your voice curls like syrup. i want a slice. you purr, present two options: carbon blue prints, we leave as strangers or we die. the syrup is on my legs now. amber, waves, luscious. my skin smells like cloves, lost spirits in a milk hotel. i forget my name. your other lives, new wives trail on. there’s something dying here, now in this bed. loose brown hair, dark, unforgettable, lost vocabulary in my breasts. which option, you ask? i won’t marry you, or father your children. the real story is my tits look great in your shirt. tight + supple + desert fantasies. i want to die, i plead.