You started it
by wearing the slinky
tigress outfit
the one that snaked over your hips
to lay bare
your tawny body
beneath liquid cellophane.
I have no idea
why I did not have enough sense
to leave you
where I found you –
in the contortionist’s cage
on Times Square
where you always humped your best
in front of an audience to the beat
of a long line of mule-eyed
protagonists.
“Their numbers are as the stars in the sky.”