and softly caressed my neck,
but I stayed home with a string of dishes
and murdered hairs and flowers hanging from it,
waiting for him to appear and bring me pleasure home
just like an express love-delivery service.
The radio went on: "It's raining men,
Hallelujah!"
so I took my head out of the window,
staring at the mocking sun,
looking upwards, in hope and expectation, to the clouds.
But love doesn't come home just like a pizza,
and the radio is never right.
So, there I stayed, here am I,
with my soft neck coming to creases,
getting old untouched: dead skin calling
for a hand to come,
a hand just created to please me.
And my skin is crumbling,
and silence embraces my neck like a serpent,
strangling my wishes in order to eat.
(alligator, alligator,
running down my spine)