vincent

i knew vincent's hands to tremble upon
the image of murder in the mirror
that intent to carve up the fresh flesh
he'd feast upon in coming weeks
easing the aching that barked in the back of his mind
and rolling groans across his stomach
with deep dreams of satisfaction and
kingly post-coital cigarette ashes spreading on
his ivory bedsheets.

he'd flatly slam the palm of his hand on
the walnut kitchencountertop when the
neighborgirl would give him lip,
looking up from cutting carrots with a chilling
smile and a voice coated in wax and ocean breezes
his idea of sexy maybe but undeniably
predatory
i'd say
i have vague notions about things he
did by the suppressed noises from the apparently
mattress-walled interior of that otherwise quiet
little one bedroom with the unkempt lawn and the beware of dog sign.
sometimes we'd hear a lot of yelling in like i guess chinese,
but then it'd get real quiet after and we just supposed his TV
didnt have auto volume adjust between channels, like ours does