Gloved Hands Are The Cruelest In A Ballroom
You pray on parquet before it begins
not to a god or seraphim but to
the pinstriped swathed cock of one of his friends
that he may be softer than it is to you.
Your leash released into his hand is yanked
until you hurriedly stand so he can
whisper evils he has planned. You will thank
him later on the ground while others stand
in masks, ballgowns. You hear rustles of ruffled
skirts, whispers of women who want to see
you hurt summon another to muffle
the mouth with lace opera gloves. Screams
allowable as you appraise your doom.
Gloved hands are the cruelest in a ballroom.