there is cotton in my mouth.
my fingers become tweezers, plucking, yanking, culling;
but there is still cotton in my mouth.

it reminds me of the time the spooky man from the shadows called me sugar
and then called me over like I was a cheap doxy.
avoiding him was obvious, but then dodging him became obvious and
the moment I felt ***** hands brush my left hip,
I knew I wasn’t safe anymore.

there was cotton in my mouth.
fragile like a pretty doe with a wounded hind leg,
I could not scream or attack; for there was jelly in my bones too.

but tonight, there is cotton in my mouth, again,
for different reasons; though, the same.
fear.
and while there is no bête noire with a knife
clutching onto my left hip, calling me sugar;
there is this certain bête noire I had neglected,
to discover radiant lights dancing above
and rich, resplendent tickles and tingles coming through my heartbeats.

I found a black spot; a hole or tear; rip in the curtain; stain on the carpet.
a darkness, a moon gone missing; a reversion to autopilot; comatose, asleep.

there is cotton in my mouth and my fingers still
cull the plush barrier; but it grows like a monster
and I have nothing more to say anyway.

Jasmin and black olive
In her corridor
To whisk away
The smell of death

Of her landlady
Of great corpulence
A weak heart
And diabetes
But the sweetest smile
And contagious laughter

She gives thanks
When lighting her candle
De jasmin et olive noire.

Tread softly, my dear,
This land is full of dread,
Do you know not what is in your own head?

Tread hastily, child,
You may not find what you seek
The mind is full of pitfalls and it is sure to be oblique

Tread lightly, little lamb
Each mark in the dirt is visible
And those who find it will be most unforgivable

Have you not heard a single foul yelp?
Any echo of a cry for help?

This is your Bete Noire, cherub
A nightmare built for you
A place you must surely pass through

Constructed by your imagination,
It needs only a single macabre thought in your head
As you lie softly in your bed

Here is your Bete Noire, love
You will surely see it to the end
No matter what it is that you intend