**Twenty Dollar Love**

I expected more— your stature reduced to a mere infatuation; your love, a twenty-dollar painting: cheap, detestable at second glance.

You look better in monochrome, wearing nothing but your seductive smile— “Hello—”

You deserve the sweetest orgasms, but as the night fades, the bottle wears off, I can’t help but see you off, hoping I never see you again.

We can always make love by blown-out candles, to ease the nostalgia, to dull the knife.

Cut the bullshit— let’s drink and dance, mon amour.