The Dinner Party

NB. This formatting of this poem has not been retained between the draft and the published version. Please use the image rather than the words below it to view the poem as intended.

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Darling, be a pet and fetch us all some wine, bring the vintage merlot, the one I drink when I'm behind closed doors, until I can feel it hit, her full, sexy body, one I'll not Quit. Oh I I she is clumsy, walks into the don't doors, always got close bruises, always in the wars, my eyes, he yes you'd think she'd be more careful but is there if she keeps on messing up, I have to keep her in her place I blink, if like a fucking bitch pup. Did you have a good holiday, he slaps it was it to the Grenadines? I love a private island too, is only if no-one hears her screams. Yes, work is quite stressful, he cant go comes with having power, but it helps me feel I have to sleep, so control, when I make her cower. Darling, fetch our guests look their coats, and don't think I didn't see the way you looked at him away, tonight, the way you touched his knee. You think you're something dont special, can play me for a fool but you and I both know, that there is pry a golden rule. You can wear your bruises loudly, but you'll smile and say or you tripped. Nobody will ask you twice and you will never snitch. And if peep you ever ask for help, or if you try to leave, I'll make sure you know the score, there'll be no more reprieve.