You know that it is over when you go

to see him after midnight, dressed

In babydoll pajamas the breeze blows

up on your way inside.  Think how impressed

he’ll be with such a cheeky surprise.  Use

your key and climb in bed, the place he should

be but isn’t, his “early night,” a ruse.

You know what it must mean; it isn’t good.

You leave ashamed his neighbors will get a view

of you, this needy whore without a clue.

For him, you were a good girl, pure and true,

and look at where it’s fucking gotten you.


Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola.  Her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Quail Bell Magazine, Infernal Ink, Occulum, Faded Out, Fourth & Sycamore, Murmur Journal, Moonchild Magazine and many other publications.  Read some more of her sonnet fuckery at  Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie.

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