Dahmer, Darling

jeff works third shift

at the ambrosia chocolate factory –

tonight is his night off and i

am just his type.

says he will take my photo.

says he will undress me.

says he will put his lips on my body.

i say i’d like that.

the smell of

bleach and sin and whiskey

fume in the hallway.

public housing, not his fault –

some strange folks

live in this building.

he wiggles the key in the lock

the peeling door swings open

the apartment exhales

releases the wretched stench

to the world.

he asks if i want a drink.

no, thank you. i don’t think

i can stomach it. thick and chemical,

the odor hangs like fog and jeff

doesn’t bat an eye. insists

i have a drink. insists we share a night cap.

i finally ask, gilded laugh to my glass,

man, you gotta tell me – what

is that godawful

smell?

he grins, coy

leads me by leash with my tie

to his room.

my freezer broke yesterday. everything spoiled.

and he’s kissing me

but the smell isn’t coming from the freezer.

it’s coming from

here. his mouth

becomes putrid, my

tongue dries.

breathing

becomes an

exercise

planned

like a feint

in chess.

in the corner i spot

the bulging barrel;

blue and fat,

industrial.

the kind they use to ship cargo

labeled ‘hazardous’ and ‘dangerous’.

and its made its way into my lungs,

that pregnant, synthetic scent,

asphyxiating.

he leads me to his bed,

the excorcist III on tape

and he keeps watching

over my shoulder with covert

glimpses, sweet-talking

buttons from my buttonholes

i say i’m feeling well –

but jeff has a smooth silver blade against my cheek

he listens to my chest, beating

in syncopated, cautionary song

says he will swallow my heart.