4/8/2015

Lying within the breadth
of le petit mort
i, accustomed to being

escorted out, sat up and out
of bed, the golden glaze of the
whitman skylight probably
shining around my brazen cheekbones.

"Come here," He said, the student,
and I was filled with a tender repugnantion, I was reminded of how
post coitum I would not let my past

lover even touch me for a while.
and so with this resignation I
crawled up next to him in the
Old beige wallpaper surroundings

The prestigious institute.
"You know," I told him, burying my nose into his arm
"I was named after a seductress. She would poison her father's political enemies after ***."

He shuddered a bit.
"How long does it take to kick in?" He feigned concern, eyes blinked on and off rapidly then

"Ah!" He clutched at his gut. "I feel it! The poison!" he closed his eyes and went limp. I laughed. Then he laughed.

It was a scene tender with beatific memories of vague sentimentality, quaint regard.

"It is time for you to get going now though," he stood up. "I have a paper to write."