Vacancy
Bayard: Have you ever been pork sworded? Petulia: vacant
Down the sweaty hotel walls—your face— Beads of perspiration trace. I can see in the mirror—your eyes— My heaving thighs. I moan—disguise.
You fuck me like you’re bored—a chore. Do you even want me anymore? We are both politely faking—vacant. Too lazy to leave. You’re done—reprieve.