A far off look,
of diminished returns
and long held hooks.
You want me to beg you to stay,
beg you to take off your coat,
beg while I’m down on my knees-
a begging that’s bottomless.
a begging that stings bees.
And this is the beautiful blow of fantasy,
the window dressing and half truths,
of distant brutality.
It’s a hand up the skirt,
it’s a head in the oven,
it’s a heart full of hurt,
it’s my kind of lovin’.
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