Love Me Like a Dentist

I live to have you paw me
with your greasy fingers, your instruments
the tiny flashlight that slips inside
the tightest places -- light me up like a Christmas angel
in the hands of a bad boy, skirt pushed up
around my neck, feet locked in the icy stirrups
of my favorite chair. I like to pretend
you're just some wicked sick machine
pistons pushing in, pulling out--"Does this hurt?
Does this?" I close my eyes against the overhead light
and think of metal insects fucking as your sticky
fingers gently pull my dress back down, smoothing out
the wrinkles in the cloth covering my breasts
sighing almost reluctantly
as if you, too, wished this appointment
would never end.