the scented ones

i could’ve slept with these streetwalkers before
explored the length of their subtle white bodies
i could’ve studied the wounds on their necks
slash or bite marks
punctured, drilled, ligature
i don’t know
razor blades.
they let their precious blood
coat their hearts
a coat of arms
sacred hearts of vengeance
slipping and sliding with
poison and passion and sweat
i could’ve brought them back from the island
on that concrete floating platform
with storm doors dropping from heaven
sealing off one world, opening the next
i remember watching the froth of black tides
the density of jungle brethren
as our platform lurched towards city lights
the society of night is coming
legs long and entangling
lips moist and saccharine and sewn together
eyes burning with radiance and rohypnol

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