Moist lips awake my shoulder blade.
Slow tongue traces my ear.
Warm fingers slide over my
hip.
Gentle palm guides me to
a hot hairy chest and I
swell and pound and perk.
I grab his shoulders for
support and
my face tenses into his neck.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A little girl cries before dead leaves in Autumn, and poets snatch her away to prophesy and theorize. She is made an orphan and a spoiled princess. She laughs, she howls, she falls dead on the spot. And many starving artists are fed. Why did she really cry? She probably can’t remember herself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One dying day I wept.
I sat below the willow
in my flowing dress with
my flowing hair.
My face was powdered white,
with rouge pinking my
nose and eyes.
I gathered fallen leaves in
my lap and gathered them
to my bosom and glanced
woefully to the heavens and
tears glistened on my lashes.
Then the sun came out and
I ran to spy on the boys
Smug in knowing many poets
feast tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
New pure sunlight glistens on new pure snow untouched and undisturbed my heart expands and my mind is nostalgic and my body is rejuvenated I jump and dance and fly around and around my arms outstretched and create snowbabies and Victorian houses and mountains of snow then I feel my knees cold and my legs itch and I go inside leaving the raped snow to pick the grass from its hair.
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I am lying in bed my toes huddle together clammy cold but my breasts are warm my spine is curved as I press the flesh against my cheekbone for a natural blush in the shape of my palm my wrist is bent back so my underarm hairs with their overused fresh scent deodorant rub against the pillow so my pillow smells like fresh scent sweat in the morning as the deodorant flakes stick to my palm-blushed cheeks because I drooled in the night and made love to my pillow as I slept my eyes are half-closed and my mouth hangs slightly open as I try to stay awake just long enough to say my knees hurt as one crushes the other and my ankle itches no my right shoulder just behind and below the neck I want to lie on my back put my arms beside my head feel my breasts slide down my sides stretch my legs as far as they will go pull the covers to my nose so my breath warms my body my feet are still clammy and it’s really getting late and I must be up early I should shower before leaving rinse the grease from my scalp wash the sweat from my cheek scrub the clammy foot stench from my breath-heated body but I need to write more just until he is done with his game and brushes his teeth and takes off his clothes and turns out the light and steals the heat I’ve acquired so he can rest comfortably with a nipple in his ear but I don’t think I can wait for him after all for he has nothing to do tomorrow and I need to be up early and there’s that darn itch again only now it’s the left shoulder so I pause to scratch it and my stomach makes a noise and I release a little gas and I start on my lip again but I already got the good stuff this morning so I’ll have to wait ’til tomorrow or just bite it anyway ’til it bleeds I’m beginning to suspect I’ve got bugs in this bed for I’m itching all over and I focus on one itch to forget all the others and I try to control it but it controls me so eventually I give in and scratch a layer of dead cells from my arm you wouldn’t know it to look at me but I’ve got a big hole in my arm where the cells used to be and I can no longer see what I’m writing for my eyes just gave in but that doesn’t matter because my mind keeps on going thought after thought sometimes related but always without pause and my hand tries to speed up to accommodate these thoughts but already several have escaped but not too many because all these itches and that new crick in my neck take a lot of my immediate concentration and I’m feeling kinda gaseous and I think I’ll just roll over and turn these thoughts into dreams.
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