I would decline.

He’s singing
About the shortcuts
To my veins

He swears he loves me. I have an easy time believing him, because he keeps repeating it.

I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.

What might I tell the girl complicit in her own suffering?

The Swiffer whore whorls
Hoarded in Northwestern corners
Churlishly childbearing
A browbeaten nudity
Subtly suggesting
A sulk

Active beer goggles
Drunk on hate, def can’t see straight
Dudes—call an Uber

Weeding out potential duds
More bang for your buck

Ink forms thews of fists
That split splintered lips
Into punch-drunk grimaces

Slice it like a banana,
And split the slender bits.

Run races with scissors.
Take risks —
Not prisoners.

Their pearls drop

He lets you know
When to shut up
And just start singing.
You lost your nascent wings;
Zemblanity’s still stinging.

I won’t wait on you
Hand and foot;
I’ll leave that to another gal
Who’s “just misunderstood.”

They come a dime a dozen
Don Juan doesn’t mind

Smoker-cough hack,
But she’s got a nice rack;
Her ass:
A perfect place
To hang your hat.