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MELANIE VOTAW




WAITING ROOM




I breathe in the air provided me by the unknown patron,
feeling shamefully ungrateful as I return it jagged.

He watches me.

I fold my right thigh over my left,
to vainly conceal how easily
he could cause them to turn from each other like enemies,
rendering my mind's will impotent.

He observes me like a scientist would a new creature
discovered in a remote jungle,
brought back to civilization
for the mere pleasure of his insatiable curiosity.

I feel like the star exotic dancer
lying on a glass slide under light and lens.

As I am drenched in his bottomless gaze,
a part of me I have not yet met
runs to hide behind the rest of me,
out of my sight,
did he notice the lone tear of sweat
licking my face from forehead to chin
as I imagine his tongue might?

He swallows.

A woman all in white intrudes,
his name dripping off her lips,
I triumphantly catch the sound
like a bullet in my teeth,
His footsteps echo the sudden
relentless chant of the wall clock
and his backwards glance drapes
and tickles like sheer red curtains
as the bullet melts like chocolate under my tongue.
The nurse locks the door behind him.

The keyhole oiled,
I exhale,
unfold my thighs like a love letter,
and continue to wait.



Scars Publications


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