On his lips
the back and forth of darkening vowels
sets my thighs dripping like slow jazz
He buys me a second drink and I can feel my lips
unfastening like a black corset
Newspaper says the last girl
was strangled with her own scarf
and put out with the garbage
like a botched abortion
It has been 200 days since my hands have touched
another living thing
The grainy image on a security camera
tells my future better than tarot or tea leaves
His hands on my throat an electric shock
the color of rubies