Sylvia fed me spiders in the classiest corner of town…
Collars turned up to hide us we cupped our hands and shovelled them down
Silver blades and subtle passes slipped our pills and swapped our glasses,
Played footsie on a fading floor. we turned around I shut the door
You shot me with a killer glance — i swore!
I screamed! you’ll not put me in the circus with the fleas, or with
Kathleen, the human bean… i’m scared of heights… i tiptoed
Tightropes… Angels spied the telescopes. «Gone fishing»
But i will not be your oyster, God…
I’m much too young to drink, and much to drunk to die…
I’m happy in your tapestry you happy on a thread.
You wove the pair of pink pyjamas and a double bed and when i sleep,
I mutter «Mata Hari you strike me dead!»
With hatpins baby… hit me where it hurts, Mmmm! I love it!
I’ll be your little oyster — i’ll be the whole wide world
