Bad Girls part 3

Bad girls are lining up all around the block
inside my head
tapping high heeled feet impatiently,
scuffing the toe of just polished motorcycle boots
adjusting breasts, fluffing cleavage and looking out
with hungry eyes

I never knew them, not really
even though that's what we were called- always
even though that's what I was born into
like a shoe box with a lid without air holes
even though that was my identity

I always thought I was bad but not a girl
or bad at being a girl
or not enough of a boy to count
or too much of both to be believed

I never knew this sense of wild
fires blowing up in the wind
taking down buildings and trees
and old men pissing out whiskey in the alleyway
I never knew the girl with the matches was me

they burn all the time, no matter if it's wild fire season
or winter rain pouring down onto the pavement drenching
everything
they burn all the time
without ever cooling down
they are just
heated hungry and full of greedy
wanting more and more and more

wanting you- and they don't care if you want
them
they don't care if you
think you do
they just know what they want and when
know how they want you
bent low against the footstool
forehead pressing in between
their generously parted legs
hands holding your short hair tightly
tugging you in then pulling you back
because teasing is as sweet as tasting
because they can

laugh, they laugh in delight
in anger and for no
reason
at all they laugh in churches
at funerals and in pool halls
they are not concerned with the social order

they are anarchists with lipstick
masks and low cut
dresses and stockings if they feel like it
and bare pale legs if they don't
and they are happy to wear your boxers
happy to have you carry their damp panties
in your teeth and their desire
in between your legs

they move like contagion
they move like dancers
with hips that grind to the beating
of your heart which they can hear
miles away they know things
they shouldn't know
they knew eve when eve was innocent
they knew eve before the apples
and pears and the vines that grew wild everywhere

they know how to eat without shame
with the bite of sharp teeth
with big bites of everything
salty sardines and peaches
onions, garlic and deep fried everything
bits of your lips if you aren't careful

the bad girls are restless
the pop of gum and finger snapping
makes my head hurt
they want up and out onto the street before it gets too
late for playing
they want to be set free and are convinced
that you are ready
and if you aren't don't much care

the bad girls are tired of waiting
they are putting on red lipstick
whore skirts and white pearls
they are closing up pocket books
and tucking in cocks
packing for anything
ready for muster
ready for you standing tall
or on your knees
just better say please
and thank you because bad girls
get mean without mercy
without warning.

Ready # 1

I want to give you things for your restless.

Not places to wander but places to move against,
friction like calloused thumb against zipper,
teeth moving against the tender places of neck
and inner thigh
that want to bleed out
in suicidal abandon.

I want to open against you again.
That slow quick slow quick heart beat pulsing through
pushing into the
underneath
lizard brain wakes in this knowing of you
primal and focused on just this thing
needing it's way now.

Needing to feel the hunger bloom up between us like the flame hissing
on a quick strike kitchen match
that fuck the foreplay take your pants down, quick quick, closer closer, where's the skin,
where are you, no where are you really, where's the spot- there and now and yes and more
Always more. We are gluttons for skin
drunk on the fucking, hooked on the buzz of dangerous chemistry we can't decipher
stuck on edges that ask for something softer but cannot wait
licking at the broken bits, staring into the unabashed truth
unafraid though we should be

We just keep going- through all those wide open spaces
through the secrets, and old places underneath
we head straight to the dirty places
low and base like littered dark alley ways
sticky and ripe and full of  puddles and grease and rutting and face down hard on fucking
to exhaustion.

Till we are sweat soaked and bleeding
wet and wrung out and no damned good anymore
and I want that too, that exhaustion all the way through
from too much, from again and from more, from the hair pulling
and tugging from the fighting our way to whose on top
the flip, the switch, the sting and the beauty of every single thing
taken, tasted, used and abused till we are empty ache muscles burning
breathing hard but barely able to move as we sleep, our dreams restless
still, moving from place to place waiting, listening to our slow breathing
waiting for more.