Beneath A Gangster’s Fedora

I listened to my heart beating in the depth of my mouth,

my erratic breathing revolving around in my eardrums

as if this were another place, another time, only with me

standing on the opposite end. . .and blood is a big expense

How long I’ve been living in my own pool of gangster lust, greed

and revenge never ceases to amaze me, never ceases to question me

each time I hand off my Fedora to the wake of her pleasure

nestled on a spindle without an ounce of regret or the threat of death?

I am breath. . .less as my bare feet touch down over

the scuffed floorboards harboring deftly secrets that have

ended in spools of blood from some post-tragic interlude

and I await mine each time we meet like this. . .this way

I glimpse over my shoulder, and my belly pulls from the

naked sight of her lithe body lying there on white sheets

soon to be red like the night I broke her ingrown cherry

she could never be a virgin twice, life would be too meaningful

There is a mirror standing across the room, my naked body

gravitates to it, my Fedora clutching tight in one hand gently

places it on my head while the glide of my finger across the brim

mirrors the glide of my dick over her pussy to expel those cir-cum-stances

She moans in her slumber and her ass emulates against her moan as those

chaotic hips sway one way, sway the other, humping those sheets she calls

his name and whispers my name and shame never becomes her despite

the babies crying downstairs, a couple fighting in the hall, I am fucked