we meet up every few hundred years
at the same special little place
our private table always waiting
black leather booth lined walls
covered in pictures of us
with frank sinatra
caesar romero
and every grinning kennedy
the bartender no longer asks what bourbon to pour into our manhattans
mutually assured destruction
the only dish on the menu
this year i bought new heels just for the occasion
a sumerian demon draws seams down my thighs
so i tell him wear your red suit, baby
it will match perfectly
with the armageddon in your eyes