Kristin Garth


in dreams i will follow you to rooms which 
cannot be true. knock doors with holes as small 
as me where you appraise every inch 
you see, timorous, in a half lit hall. 
a freshly shaven babydoll closes eyes, 
pulls up her dress, ritual you request 
before turning the lock.  tiptoe by
your flock of gargoyles asleep abreast,
the broken ones you loved the best, unleashed,
still animals at your behest, with teeth 
for any who fail your tests. make a feast 
of me upon egress if i’m not bequeathed 
the night to serve the master, as is right.
only good girls get to stay the night. 

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