Мардж Пирси. Друг

The Friend 

We sat across the table. 
he said, cut off your hands, 
they are always poking at things.
they might touch me. 
I said yes. 

Food grew cold on the table. 
he said: burn your body. 
it is not clean and smells like sex.
I said yes. 

I love you, I said. 
That's very nice, he said 
I like to be loved, 
that makes me happy. 
Have you cut off your hands yet?