She says, It’s like I know, but I don’t know.
The light an amber syrup on her skin.
Desire is a drug, saccharine and low.
We sit on the couch all three in a row,
and with these words I see the truth within.
Yes, I reply. I know, but I don’t know.
You think it’s some secret between us, though,
a plan for betrayal and carnal sin.
Desire is a drug, saccharine and low.
I say, You’ve got to give in to the flow.
Terri pulls out some whipped cream with a grin.
I watch entranced. I know, but I don’t know.
She sucks the nitrous from the tip, and oh!
the bead of cream that trickles down her chin.
Desire is a drug, saccharine and low.
She slips into our bed in dawn’s gray glow.
Right beside you I slide the dagger in.
You see? It’s like I know, but I don’t know.
Desire is a drug, saccharine and low.
This is a dream 
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A villanelle I wrote four or five years ago about events that occurred when I was nineteen or twenty.
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