Sex and Murder Magazine

By Jennifer Hollie Bowles

My face is flushed and my feet are cold,
that guy reminds me of my father,
and that one looks like my rapist,
all the others bore me

Some roads are skyless, some skies are road-
less, one has roadkill, the other requires
death, both move and stand still,
no one is on or in mine

What I keep hidden is nothing you want
to hear, and everything you want,
but then you want everything,
without giving a damn thing

My heart is cold and my cunt is hot,
maybe if you put your dick in my
heart and your eyes in my cunt,
the paradoxes would shift