Your whores
are the reason I wake
early morning fretful.
I am disguising charm
for appetite.
Your painted messages
nauseatingly perfumed
like you had bathed in the oils
of lust itself.
Forget to remember me,
the one of many,
thrust up under your teeth,
an annoyance you'll temper
until it festers.
Every moment I am blind
and searching
(knees wrapped in cellophane)
for a new way to hate
you;
in love.