I crave. I crave. I crave. Something. Something
else. Not this. It comes unasked for. Unsought.
Not all sex is sordid or degrading,
which is a shame. Someone, somewhere, is not
doing it right. Tonight the city sings
God Save the Queen’s Cunt. Let me go solo.
That is good, too. Tonight all these longings
feel brand new. Did you ever writhe and glow
and squirt? I plan to. Crave my mouth, my voice,
my hair. Search for the liquid sound of my
steps all day. I will wait for you. The choice
is yours. Tonight no one will hear this cry,
which I make for you. All old joys and new
pleasures, all that I know, this is for you.
memories of my ghost sista 