Poetry 365

Such time as I’d drop by
you’d lead me to the den
straight past your parents, who’d
pointedly sit there glued
to talk shows, CNN,
the volume turned up high.

So what if dystrophy
shriveled your tits and clit
as long as you’d crouch, eyes
famished, between my thighs;
I treated you like shit,
your only hold on me

exerted on my twists
and turnings in the chair;
then as I’d start to come
your rage at being numb
pinned me exploding there,
gripped as with cuffs on the wrists.