Catalyst

Dearest, had I not seen your dilated pupils carefully examine for the hundredth time the skin stretched over my bones I would have never guessed your promises of platonic love were mere lies, so carelessly scattered on the bedroom floor. My body was the most intriguing crime scene, tagged by your brusque fingerprints only.

All my sagacity is absolutely trivial once these lips of smeared red arouse your cheap fantasies of creaking headboards and violent hipbones. And I'd bet a fortune you'd love nothing more than to watch me sweat bullets like the shameless whore you have so inadvertently raised me as.

You've carefully laced your words in thick spiderwebs, painted silver by moonlight's voyeurism. Yet my lace lingerie hasn't moved from the spot where you left it. Slowly I boycott your bedsheets and emigrate to the edge of the worn out mattress. Is it any wonder the two sloppily painted stars on the motel entrance door put my smile to shame?