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This is wicked.
I'm within a stone's throw of the Vatican,
and I'm fucking your brains out
in a cheap pensione.
You're the friend of my boyfriend —
there's the sin.
My boyfriend's an intellectual,
so am I, so are you — but you're dumber.
You ask me how I want to do it.
On a chair, I say, face to face.
In this room, there's a bed — double-sized, sheets all threadbare
and damp — and one scuffed, wooden chair.
Lucky for us, that's all we need.
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© 2000 Faulkner Fox and Nerve.com, Inc.
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