When reduced to her smallest terms
even straight women want to hold this thing
so condensed, whittled,
boiled down into the essence of what you desire.
Not her name,
only the glow.
Sex and shiver of the sexual
being that moves beauty to its side
for a clear view of its closest companion.
Woman reduced to a sliver of herself,
a piece of jewelry to display
or contain in small packages
opened with hinge,
lined in velvet, crushed.
How is it you create
this slut fucking bitch who dreams of being stopped
hand smacked and abandoned where she might
have room to re-inflate into something real,
something that cannot be worn
something that cannot be packaged
and passed across the table.