dishabille

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Kindness is a strange aphrodisiac —

You show me shocking blue bruises, stitches

 

and a thick tattoo on your lower back

that reads: Baby Mac Sappho. Your nieces

 

come to visit. Your sister frowns at me.

I look like trouble. The hospital room

 

is small. I wait in the hall as you three

chat but as soon as they’re gone we resume

 

where we left off: your gown pulled to your breasts,

thighs wrapped around my neck. Your dishabille

 

lips, the moon-stud in your clitoral hood,

the way you spurt. All week you had no guests.

 

That hurt. But this kindness, you say, this feels

good. Just good? I ask. Heh, cuntablunt good.

coitus carnalis

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Photos of you from the 80s: your permed

mullet, day-glo spandex, braces. You mused

 

about your lovers: the first girl who squirmed

under your tongue, the first boy who abused

 

your bum. We wouldn’t have been friends back then.

You liked dudes, ripped and mean. I was neither.

 

What was the term? “Art fag”? Still, tonight, sin,

a slick mess, has brought us to this. Cancer

 

has not dimmed your ardor. Your husband snores

upstairs. Your younger self stares down on us.

 

I have to wonder if she’d be surprised

to find you spread wide? skewered? on all-fours

 

like beasts? Slow, deep feast — coitus carnalis

— cum now, I think that she’d be scandalized.

what escapes

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Say that submissiveness is a wavelength

simply seeking proper context. You wet

 

yourself, you say, because your secret strength

comes from dreams of cum, of cream, of stout jets

 

arching up from between your legs. I’ve squished

juice from you, pinched your lips until, like grapes,

 

you ran down my arm. “I drip when ravished,”

you squeak. “Je mouille comme une folle.” What escapes

 

between us is slick. We burble. We rave.

We read the patterns with a soothsayer’s

 

prowess that you sprinkle and dew. Always,

they say, you will come again. That this wave

 

in you will come out. Call these kisses prayers

to all that bucks and groans, gushes and sprays.

NOTE:

My French is very bad but I believe that, “je mouille comme une folle,” translates into, “I’m as wet as a crazy woman.” We all should be that wet.

prove

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It’s not breaking off the tooth, it’s the living

with the exposed root. You are gone. You are

 

gone. I know that the rain is still falling,

that the earth is still sublime, that the star

 

I named you for is still out there, somewhere.

It’s this morbid time, time on my hands, time

 

to think that I can drink away despair,

fuck away all this pain. Time for sublime

 

errors in judgment. Pain will be the death

of me but what does pain prove? They still move:

 

the rain, the earth, the stars, all that must part

must part. I held you. You took your last breath.

 

You are gone. Let this long sober pain prove

that I love you, little blessing, dear heart —

little bliss

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Death then? Love now. Love what teaches. Despair

combined with sex and poor impulse control

 

teaches. During a game of Truth or Dare

I learned that the emotional black-hole

 

called my psyche isn’t good at keeping

friends. The Dare: show me base pleasures. Others

 

tsk’d-tsk’d. Look where it got them. Still, snogging

takes groin-stirring skill and I know what stirs

 

your groin, or so I thought. I got confused

and then frightened when you began to cry.

 

That was neither long death or little bliss,

only shame. When friends say that they felt used

 

that’s on you. Learn from this, fool. Don’t reply

with a sigh that a kiss is just a kiss —