High-Maintenance (Revised)

There are things that I need from you.

On a day like this, a black rose with a red ribbon through its single thorn,

which I’ll try to detach only to let more red out. I’ll need you to

mop the fluid off the pad of my thumb,

off your pristine marble floor. I’ll need you to

pretend you’re doing it for the first time. Always.

 

Tomorrow it will be diamonds that I’ll want, rough cut, rose tinged

set across my throat, a million dollar rope. I’ll need you to

pull till the edge digs into your hand,

into my cartoid, where it bulges out. I’ll need you to

let go only when you think I’ve taken enough.

 

A few whispered words, the next. Lies, dripping honey

dripping poison, things they told you. I’ll need you to

bring out your sticks and stones,

use them often, use them well. I’ll need you to

 

Do all this, and do some more, there’s nothing

to lose in loving me.

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