a clown car named desire

By | 1 May 2019

spending a summer afternoon eating a box of cherries in bed
is arguably a very sexy thing to do

unlike drinking red bull in the shower,
which is the other meal i had today

writing a love poem is like writing contract
if it seems convincing enough, no-one reads every word

i’m giving sentiment a go and it’s going fine: in fact
i’m going at it with mawkish sincerity!
putting down one word after another. focussing on
purpose, genre, context— esses, effs, long vowels…………

writing something like: “baby, you make me feel [fill in later]”
a love poem is basically like a long-ass greeting card

& isn’t the history of western intimacy
just footnotes to Hallmark? i feel smarter
when i say that than i do
with my tongue on your neck,

or pushing my face into your stomach—
it’s like see the face of god—

what do you reckon? does this gesture
convey meaning? i’m “going out on a limb”

as if we fall the same way. when you go,
it will be like rain does, easy, always into something new.
not like me—a brick—thrown like an afterthought
and breaking every branch on the way down

This entry was posted in 91: MONSTER and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.