There’s a gag behind the bathroom door,

then a splash of entrails hitting a pond 

of white porcelain, my man writhing, 

suddenly pious, suddenly bare.

Let me in, my love, I say 

through hinges, through holes 

in a door wide enough 

for a plea, for a being there

to churn in my stomach, 

to empty, 

to be flushed into

sewers of sound

like a lock

opening