Your House

(c) 2004 Aire Celeste Norell

I have run my fingers through the hair of your carpets   I have thrust my hips against —hands guiding— the firm tube of your vacuum cleaner I have teasingly caressed your baseboards   I have rubbed slowly the curves of your toilet I have pressed my boots into the white flesh of your linoleum and wiped my mark away you live in your house but, woman—I know it you leave the check in the door you don't thank me