Dressed to Kill

Frozen Landscape
Drenched in fog.
The smell of cologne
Fills the car.
Pull the scarf around my neck,
You may bite if I don’t.

Corona crawls down my throat
Releases inhibitions
Chase it with the pills, and the plant.
Wake up:
Handcuffed to a bed
Without being bound.

“Let me caress your hair.”
I hate that you use that word.
I hate that you’re on top-
Smelling like something dead…
Where’s that cologne?

Red eyes on the night stand
Shoot insults in my face…
And mock this dreadful