I am not asking for much—
A kiss on the cheek, a whisper of a secret.
Perhaps I am the Devil’s daughter—
Lust drunk and excruciating on all dimensions but one.
I am demonic with angelic tendencies.
I am feather light and pretty—the blue eyed kind.
The favourite grandchild, if only because of my domesticity.
Angel cake cupcakes and sprinkled vanilla frosting on Monday afternoons.
A perfect wife for your only son.
I give older men fuck eyes in libraries,
Think of the curve of your mouth as the priest speaks at Sunday mass.
I bring out the worst in you, if only because of my perpetual boredom.
I promise to be good to you, but not for you.
I am duplicitous.
