my body is on the half shell tonight,
raw as you please, with extra sauce to dip it in;

i’m a deluxe (plus sized) suite,
complete with alcohol(ism) and fresh towels
and a bar of heart-shaped soap to scrub yourself with:

come in,
sit down,

for only fifty-nine dollars a night you can:

1. smoke cigarettes the size of anorexics
rolled between fingers that never tremble,
blowing smoke between bone bars laid bare to the night sky and your scrutiny.
it’s okay to leave ashes behind– i need the reminders.

2. watch gold-tooth standard films of men
with bruises on their backs not quite hidden by the camera [behind my eyes]
being fucked in positions you’ve only seen demonstrated
by pretzels and yapping dogs,
stroking your cock into submission
like your last lover was never quite able to do properly–
or for $25 more we’ll throw in an escort to call you [my] baby as many times as you like,
fuck you proper and leave before you wake up: no strings attached
(except G-),

just the way it should be.

3. smear my inner walls with cum graffiti.
the maids will clear it away in the morning
and no one will ever know how quick you really are
or that the only irreconcilable difference between you and your lover
was that he liked to make love, and you wanted to fuck.

we’ll add silk sheet[dresse]s to the (king sized body) bed
for an additional thirty dollars;
plump pillows for ten (A-DD, it’s your choice),
a prepubescent spanish maid for five.

room (lip) service runs until 3 AM,
and don’t forget to tip the maid (over).

thank you for staying with us, sir,
and we hope you’ll co(u)m[e] again.


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