Reload

I can't wait

to see that little pistol

she always keeps on her hip.

She could

put the gun to my head,

and I swear

it never tasted so good

to have my nose nuzzled next to a tattooed revolver on her pelvic bone.

Every woman should have but only one should carry so well.

And if it was a real gun,

I'd let her hold it there.

Against my temple,

as close she wants.

She could slide it into my brain,

and I could load it. I'd let her shoot me

over

and

over and,

if the hammer

doesn't tap the primer,

I'd have died betwixt

her thighs.

Bury me there.

I would never have to beg for anything else, save for the sake of

begging. If she asks-

I'd beg her for it.