was it laughter that drew me?
I found you on your knees,
shoulders shaking
and your hands spilled open,
weeping blood, twisting
my lips into a smile.
you rubbed yourself around me
like a cat too hot inside its skin,
admiring the silverwork
of my claws, pursing
your cherry mouth
as I hoisted granny
onto a butcher's hook.
after, we smoked kools.
you ran your hands across
the crimson hood of the car,
your coquette to my vette
and I knew I would not look
back, gunning the engine
into a blue sun.
I will die for this.
red
Are you okay?
Did you get those in jail?
How fast is this thing?
by Morgan Downie
illustration by Karen Boissonneault-Gauthier.