She won’t stop, won’t listen.
Not even when I spell it out,
how they treat her heart like a cheap motel?—
in and out, no sticking around.
Stain the sheets,
wreck the place,
then dip out.
That’s the difference between us.
She’s heart-wide-open,
bleeding for some dick that’s probably in someone else.
Me?
I’m headed to a skyline view with no tears, ribcage bolted shut, where two fine-ass men are waiting to make me come?—
no questions, no feelings, only the rules.
// 3:58 AM - PENTHOUSE - UPPER EAST SIDE, NYC //
Sedan slows on Fifth,
then rolls to a stop in front of my building.
Limestone façade,
black awning,
brass handles.
Mickey’s bald head shines under the vaulted entry.
Mid-fifties, thick Jersey bones, respectful.
The only man I trust in this filthy city.
He nods. “Miss Taylor.”
“Mick. Did you save me a smile?
“I need one after tonight.”
He wipes his mouth with his palm,
collecting his smile.
Then he fist-bumps me. “There. Happy now?”
I smile. “Ecstatic.”
He taps the side of his nose with two fingers.
