8/5/17 11:10pm
At the Circus

Lick the whip that
sits coiled on her chest
resting above the Lion’s beat.
Her poor heart,
It rustles like an animal
Stretching giant lips over
canines.

Wincing beneath the leather
It’s flecks of saliva
The cut-off roar.
At the circus,
She asks herself if she’s the tamer
or the tamed.