I met Satan downtown
at a little coffee shop.
I wore pearls tight around my throat
and from his, a silk tie hung loosely.
We sipped from chipped mugs
and watched one another
from across the round table.
He drew patterns with his fingertips
in the coffee rings. He spelled my name
in spilled sugar, smiled.
In some ways, that was all it took.
His pointed teeth dripped menthol-venom
and my mouth was dry.
I followed him into the elevator
and down to his basement apartment.
“Make yourself comfortable” he said.
He cranked the heat until I was sweating
myself out of my dress. Until I was delirious enough
for my jaw to fall open
and for my lips to speak for themselves,
“Slip me a little
of that forked tongue.”
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