Ode to an Eve

Dangle your body,

rotten berries, deep red and starting to reek.

I am not mesmerized by your high-pitched whine

or bleach blonde brain cells, deadened

like the nerves in your jaw, but am repulsed

by the slack in your thigh, the line of

orange mask that falls to the floor

like moldy fruit  when you finally peel it away.

I am unamused by this musing

so I give it up in exchange for

a family consisting of:

a smoky black-and-grey purr-box

and a manic man band.

I take rock-n-roll video,

close-up photographs of things

that fill our finished basement.

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