Just Put A Coin In My Mouth

Wrap me up
in spiced cloth. Smuggle

precious salt in between
the fawn folds and press

them tighter to me. Wincing
should be ignored. This

will be my soft coffin; will
draw out impurities

and leave me smooth
as a packed mannequinette.

None will guess
of the two fires beneath

the china doll skin, sparked
by two men; the first

warming my loins, dancing peach
silk tangles up inside me,

beating with pillows
on my salivating tunnels, lit

with strokes on dry kindling.
The second, and last,

an algae-sludge slow burn
worming its way slyly

through my organs. My tongue,
treacherous muscle, first.

Your liquid taxman, collecting
a tithe of life from me

in exchange for your reputation,
husband dear. I'm tired

and I want this done
right, so if you must spice

my meals so sharply, I'll eat
them up. I'm ready.

Fold up that rag and put it
in with me.

It used to be mine
before I was bettered.

And tuck my fare to the far bank
inside my cheeks, on my numb palate.

A disc of gold that bears my lover's face.
Warming, close to me in the dark.