Ms. Passion Play

It shouldn't matter, I suppose,
the scarring from some surgery
with cantaloupes the size of those.
Indeed, I'd gladly sell my soul
for this serpentine Salomé
who calls herself Ms. Passion Play
on whom I tuck a dollar bill.

"Why, you cheap­fucking­skate," said she,
"Rate's a five­fucking­spot or more!"

And when I say "Why, Ms. Tmesis!"
I'm now a "fucking doryphore."

"What the hell's a doryphore?"
I say to her, but soon recall
Ms. Insouciant PhD,
who also teaches English Lit
at junior college just like me.

I meant to say I.

I did. I really did.