The Art Of Betrayal

I’d cut a sex stain
into a neat square
from a soiled sheet.
I then had it framed;
now hangs on
our bedroom wall.
Pride of place.

I told you I’d bought it
from a London gallery,
you would
stare at it for ages

then say something like:
I can see
a happy butterfly,
or an abstract
of love, or Mother Theresa.

But it’s just a souvenir
from when I fucked your sister.

 

 

©2008 P.A.Levy
First published 2009 by The Legendary