BoySlut

Perversity

I want to scream

fire in the

kiddie matinee,

just to see

those little

fuckers scatter.

 

 

The Happiest Men In L.A.

are in love with those

women who understand

that men want nothing

more than daily sex,

and after that,

a sandwich.

 

 

I WANT LOUBOUTIN HEELS

I want Louboutin

heels with those trademark red soles,

I want them sexy, I want them high.

I want them slingback and peep-toed

so I can flash the purple polish

on my tootsies. I

want to wear them out of the store, just

you try and stop me.

I want to wow them on

Washington, saunter past C&O Trattoria

and Nick’s Liquor Mart, those bottles of Stoli

stacked in the window, calling my name, past the

summer-clad tourists in December, shivering,

barefoot, like LA has no winter.

 

In those shoes I’m hot,

stop-a-truck hot, prettiest

girl in school hot, and this

time, I know it.

Flaunt it. Hell, I own it. In those shoes I can

pick and choose, not settle for some loser.

Not drink away regrets, pound back Stoli at

Chez Jay’s, flash their scarlet bottoms when I kneel.

 

I’ll wear them like flesh,

like hooves, like sin.

I’ll keep their secrets, won’t spill

where they’ve been.

 

Better those shoes with their lurid soles

than you with yours.

 

 

TERRITORY

He flaunts my love bites on his lips,

my kisses hang on his

words. He takes me to parties,

to get me off. It’s foreplay.

Our last assignation found us in

my ex-boyfriend’s kitchen,

my ass flush with the

travertine countertops,

pencil skirt hiked above my thighs.

I like to keep

in touch with old friends.

He likes marking his territory.