A Woman Who Knows

I wasn't given the chance to figure out what happened. It was all smashed light bulbs, spit, and bamboozled. I operate under a twisted rigid code of ethics. I like being the aggressor. I've been saving it up for you. May is always the month of surprise. Spring's odorous reanimation. Night jasmine and emerging worms. The restlessness in the crotch. The pain of being a woman who knows. The fine-tuned pheromone detection. Loosened morals, parted lips, and hungry gazes. The things that make no logic sense but you know are real.