
In polite society, I was born before 1999 and know
You oughtn’t make mention of wanting to be fucked
Then behind your clean starched mask, you tilt wildly
Stringing sentences with unevenly matched Japanese pearls
Wanting to reduce the sauce and toss your marrow
Spilling on good clean table cloth
Pent up urges
…
Good girls with breeding
Even those with tattoos and bar bells
Have no karaoke for the need to be sexed
It’s unacceptable
Unless you’re a muse of Mira Nedyalkova
To show your keening before nightfall
If indeed there is a room for
The un-beautiful cast offs
Dampening their secret gyrate
When the door bell chimes
And lust must be folded against bedtime book
Empty beds, careless marriages
They stopped touching you, as the record ended
Scratching against needle in the sleeping dark of disinterest
…
Still you had unquenchable thirst
Standing by the window watching swallows gather force
You thought of your own lost voice and that place
Between your legs aching to be emptied
Of a bright star
Only women past the loving hour
Who do not possess tight arse and foals legs
Can hope for nothing better than a vibration of their own hand
…
Where did you come from then?
As I zipped myself into a drawer and prepared my flattening
The ache of years, a library of unread self-possession
So long the gaze averted in the mirror, I only saw
A ghost and the moonlight, casting shadows in drawing gloom
You paid me a kindness
Took my urges to the silent place beneath time
Where I was a girl again, wet against your silky hand
And I felt your mouth measure my climb
Into the breast of a cloud, oxygen deprived, no cry is heard
But the cymbals of holding back are loosed
Falling a great weight, your fingers entwined into my roots
…
I waited beyond my lifetime for someone like you
To open my need, pull me into you, set me free
For as we live, we hide the place we found
Ourselves that first time the sky splitting wide
Beneath the tree with fingers inside, stroking to climax
That unbearable feeling of being alive