Docile / Domestic

I pound pinatas of you to
the walls in my bedroom, blindfold you and hand you a bat:
there is an alley of light between
your weapon and
the proper point of contact
which is why I have covered your eyes
I want you to know:
which part to caress.
which part to dissect.
which part to impale.

When you have finished
thrashing about and
deconstructing the parts
of you which mean hollow,
house wrappers and
low resolution eyebrows,
I will have time to teach you things.
And somehow, this seems to be why you come here
in the first place.

Seal your lips.
I will write you a check.
For the kind of music you listen to on Sundays with
croissants
coffee
a bed:less large.

Tie your hands.
I'll make a plaque for your wall
stating your accomplishments
out of macaroni and poster paint fingerprints.

I'll build you a house out of cotton panties and
phone calls to my mother
but first
you must raise your hands above your head.
And promise to obey.