There are some spaces that feel all precious;
the small fuzzy-haired curve of my skull-bone

where they used forceps to pull me free, plus
these words. I love these words. Get a backbone,

dear, where we’re going you’ll need it. Reading
about your fantasies, usually they

include titanic boobs bouncing, flopping,
swaying, cocks that never droop. No wordplay,

no wit, no camp. That’s not kink. An echo
can moan better. Gimme color. Vulva

purple. Cock brown. Start with this sea coral,
blue blush, start glistening deeper, pink glow,

peach wet, sopping scarlet, clenched fuchsia.
I hit a pleasure point, your thigh, my skull.

][][

note:

I cropped and then turned upside down this image from Waterhouse’s painting Echo and Narcissus, happy to see that Narcissus’ reflection isn’t actually looking at himself, he is staring at the audience.