for VC Andrews & my mother
The plain are paranoid of pretty things,
not pastel kitchens, wedding rings but what
begins, pink skin, inside a pious womb then flings
libidinous limbs in living rooms. Smut
inside dark irises, omnipotent
as even his, lewd lord of Foxworth Hall
who craves betrayal, Dresden dolls; he’s meant
to suffer. Girls will pay. Wife, after all,
never really looks away — you’re well aware
of blossomed breasts, honeysuckle hair hides
sly-one-doe-eyed requests. Walk me upstairs
to whips where unmarred skin is sanctified.
You made a petaled thing he would adore.
Deflower me behind locked attic doors.
Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated sonnet stalker with work in magazines like Glass, Yes, Five:2: One, Occulum, Luna Luna, & more. She is the author of ten poetry books including a full length Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (Hedgehog Poetry Press) and Flutter: A Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press January 2020). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), and her website (kristingarth.com)
