Wine Woman Song

a man in coveralls is stripping lugnuts now in the spot by the picture window where once you bent the knee to a dazzling future with me, while I fondled an overseasoned meatball with my fork, yawned, and listed all the ways in which our coupling would never work. because I needed this hard grease monkey to strip me naked, to fuck me crazy, to wrench me free of all my doldrums and anxieties because I don’t need another gilded cage I need sweet, rusted release. but I said yes, to the dress, to a new pair of meddling parents, to the spotless house on the hill by the cliffs, to the ghoulish Sunday masses, because I don’t want a man to fix I like to break my things and glue them back together again with everything but the dick to honor my beloved Artemis. I’m working, I’m working your flesh down to the bone. I’m wearing, I’m wearing your spirit down to a groan. because I needed this worthless pool boy to rout my rooter to be my tutor in the ways of being a cliché bore because I don’t need more… of whatever this is I just need more. and more and more. I’m running out the clock in the forest, in my birthday suit, stuffing my mouth with grass and screaming to the moon. Selene, will you be my guiding light? when I return, soaked and tail tucked, to your portcullis, the skeletons out the closet dance now in the courtyard to Chappell Roan. I’m working, I’m working on my self. Hey, fancy another trip to my underworld? what you might call hell?