I thought you were a god
but I was looking at you in a mirror.
You were just a trick reflection,
skilled in deception.
We stared at each other
in the [dis]honest glass
as you held me in your teeth
and I held my breath.
Trained by Pavlov's daughter
with censers burning incense
on a nightstand altar;
patchouli soaked deep in
heavy drapes and light linen.
She had pictures on her mirrors of
Elvis shaking his hips
and Betty Page pinups,
James Dean smoking cigarettes
and Mr. Mojo Risin'
in leather and sex.
It’s the temple of Aphrodite
with golden apples and whips.
She led you b