Whose Pussy is It?

 

 

Two days without Words With
Friends ha
I tremble when I hear
That
Word.
Shuffle.
Start a new game.
Play.
Reboot.
Nudge.
I'll always have the low score.
His little minx.
The one in the black dress
Now
With blood splattered
On the walls,
The carpet will have to be changed.
Painters will be there tomorrow.
Police tape prevents you from entering
Your own house
Her pussy
She found the loaded gun
In the back of the closet
You were at the cafe
Having your hot chocolate
Without whipped cream
My cherry, I remember and smile
A drizzle of chocolate syrup
On my body
Pleasuring me
Now  it's opening night
There is nothing to celebrate
Margaret on stage
You used to call me
Sara
Eliza
Polly
Anna
Doolittle
Now
Her maiden head remains intact
It's tragic all right
You might as well nibble on
My ear and call me Juliet
Or Ingrid
Or Alicia
I don't know who I am anymore
Send me the bill
Might as well pay some more
I long to nudge you
From the grave
And mingle with your spirit
But I respect the living
As I always have
Pass
I am cold Devlin.
Sepulchers are cold. 
Annabel Lee was right.