I have no doubt...
A bite of apple is enough to sustain you.
Set it there,
On the five dollar mag you feign reading.
You're such a pretentious bitch,
And no one looks more fetching in vintage white than you.
Let the church call,
I'll tell them the apple can't be had at any price;
Since the perfection of your lips,
The touch of your teeth,
It has been rattling off the most enchanting gibberish
Like a saint in extremity
Backwards and in French.
La-de-da, Your Highness.
Let me light you another reeking cigarette
Until you are nothing but a gorgeous, noxious cloud
With a different Moses for every day of the week, worshipping at your tapping feet.
It's only the speed.
Who, darling, enables you the way I do?
Who listens to your fantastic bullshit until dawn?
Who kicks the men out when you tire of them?
Who stalls the devil, downstairs in the vestibule?
I am your apple,
My poisonous beauty;
Until you bite my flushed skin
Absently sucking until I tremble and flutter,
Not strong enough to deny you
Even as you throw away the core.
for Magpie 30