it was not love
it was not love
that made me put on
a little black dress
high heels + nylons
it was not love
in that hotel room
I’m not sure what it was like
tho you liked my white ass
you liked me on my knees
you liked my mouth on you
and I did too
you called me names
+ I said yes
tho in public
we never would have talked
you could not call what we did
what you did to me
making love
it was not love
but I loved it
Horror Sleaze Trash 
In my demented opinion, it’s the last line that closes the deal, leaves the reader with no choice but to buy the poem. Nice work! Helps make HST an even better mag than it already is.
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