Fox Fox Fanny Cuts
by
Otto Burnwell
fox fox fanny cuts
makes you feel the whip at once,
the pain is so exciting,
the visit over all too quick,
your blood is not quite dry.
she turns your pockets out
before handing back your clothes
and leaves you nothing to get
home.
she’ll savor, like an
after-dinner mint,
the thought of you debased,
entreating change from strangers
so you can ride a city bus.
the purple bruises fade to gray
the gashes heal and harden into
welts.
again, compulsion swallows you,
the mongrel at her door,
scratching so she’ll let
you in.
she waits behind the curtained
windows,
listening to your whimpered
pleas
before she whispers, “welcome,
said the spider to the fly,”
then makes you herbal tea.
she watches you disrobe
to let her bind you with her
chains.
it isn’t love,
these wounds you’ll ice,
these cuts you’ll
daub,
these burns from
melted wax.
more like a secret
pride
in a lover’s grim
possession.
but there are times
when you’re gagged and bound,
her eyes can’t hide their
gleam.
she aches to go too far
and that’s the day she’ll
kill
you,
which gives you such a hard-on
you can barely stand the wait.
Otto Burnwell lives, works,
and writes in the urban northeast, nurturing a single-malt mentality
against the turmoil. His short fiction has appeared in Misery
Tourism, Terror House Magazine, Horror: Sleaze: Trash, The Oddville Press, and Fiction on the Web. Verse
works have appeared in The Stray Branch, the dearly
departed The Oddville Press, as well as Yellow Mama.
He is on Twitter at @OBurnwell.
Joseph
Richkus is an enthusiastic
illustrator, photographer, writer, and reader. He has
been an essential oil perfumer for more than 20 years, and has worked as a history teacher,
chemist, security guard, and circus canvasman. He bemoans the limits of time and regrets
that he is not 10 people, one of whom would happily devote every waking hour to reading
the Sunday New York Times.
