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Adam To Samantha, At Tea

42 4 6

I smashed her teeth against the concrete step

on those cute, but almost unusable balconies

at the Regal. We stayed there after Paris,

with Father, when we were both in denial.

Remember? Anyway, the little wraith grunted

when I grabbed the back of her skull and threw

her to the ground. She barely squealed when

my foot came down. The sound like a cheap toy

underfoot, then a slurping gag, her tiny throat

choking blood and bone. She never spoke back

again. Those new teeth cost me a weekend,

and don't think I didn't keep reminding her

that. She is inferior to us, love, they all are.

You can treat people anyway you like,

when you are beautiful it gets in the way

and people can't decide in the split second

it takes to command the moment. Father

was right. We are beautiful predators, the moon,

all her teeth, and all her mad blood whirring.

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