I Know This Man

*This is a bit risque…so…if you aren’t an adult, don’t read it…LOL

I feel myself screaming down low,
my curves curving more, in search of,
in need; my cave waiting,
tugging on the emptiness,
in desperation.

I know this man who is solid,
his limbs aligned, straight and hard,
as a man would be. He has been calling me
with capacity, firm grasped,
swollen purple.

He has come for me before,
it was winter, he turned me into a mermaid
and brought me to a heated spring.
I never hesitated.
That was just once.

There were several times, over several seasons
that he came for me
again, and again.
I know this man who is solid and firm
and I scream for him, my body searches for him,
I belong to him.

The Orange Hatter

She is the orange hatter. Holding
orange rose blossoms
against black lace.
Bride marrying
a fish;
a plaid, handsome fish.

He watches her walk,
holds stern hands together,
to keep
from touching
a brunette flower in gold trim.

She is beautiful, the flower, with
agony’s gaze.
With child.
Matching orange bouquets with the bride.

Flushed in the background,
a lemon princess smiles.
Throwing innocence on
holy ground. The only
child left.

Left by Mother, (un-photographed),
because
Mother had no bouquet, just
a bastard lemon child
in a basket,
in July.

July has taken more lemons than
given. From dumpsters.
From wombs.

Some, children of children.
Some, children of
addicts,
victims,
shame.

Some, children of a flower in
Gold trim, holding on to a matching
bouquet
of a Bride.

Statue

I am laying in wet cement, gray
mud
blanket gobbling up my plague.
It is thick like me,
like the twenty years of
plaster inside.

Everything is hardening.
Kidney.
Liver.
Fallopian Tubes.
Guts.
Heart.

I have been treated like a statue.
It isn’t hard to
be still,
motionless. Erect.
Allowing curious wanderers to
make up my background,
my story.

A man brought oranges
to paint
me with. He was a soft liquid.
I was set to stone.
He sliced his moist fruit,
dripping
sweet citrus over my rough skin, melting
my rind.

Away, away I went with delicate fruit.
A new sculpture.
A beautiful, fluid seed.

Allegiance To The Line Juicer

He is wired for
sour fruit dessert, weaving black and blue
cables  through his heart.

A stripper and his peach syndrome
parted, in him, desire from fear.
He lost.

Yet,
he can swallow rose petals better
than any absorbent
and
he steps more lucent than any
cloud walker…

I have pledged allegiance to his hands,
his hair,
his stubble shadow.
I demand his tongue
his touch,
his exchange;

where his voice spreads thick,
taste enhances,
where his deluxe firewater is served,
servants dance,
where his skin sheds to brace life,
I kneel.

If God cannot dampen my dry, callous skin,
maybe this sad Electrician can.

 

s2

Dear Desire

Oh, I have been kept,
too long
refrigerated.

My tongue itches for links of
Vienna, a
swallow of
germ juice. Emptiness is
a plague,

a manic,
internal,
thirst.

My crossed legs quiver
on cue at
red storms
ice score

over a Ranger Hound. Ah!
What a hallucination
I devour!

A deserving,
choice
New York Strip
with  liquor lips
and packing hands.

Dear Desire, would craving be
craved if
bark met
bark even once??

If so, I’ll keep the craving and
you can
keep the steak.

Substitute

You’re in my closet again
trying on my heels
coaxing my jeans to shrink
shrink
to just under
nourished

I have a face for you
glued on
golden fish eyes
a sassy little smack
and a painted
pout

for recognition

you wouldn’t know me otherwise

I drank a tube of toothpaste
a bottle of Kracken
and
coerced my female intuition
into
your rough clutch

you pinched
my finger tips
one-by-one
dressing them in frilly little
dresses

then my neck
choked with the devil’s diamonds

you kneel down
lips to my naked knee
a
soft
kiss of approval

I am ready.

Yellow Belly

Where are they? Oh, I have lopped off
both stones!!

The pair hung below
unused –
what should have been bold
is now shriveled.

What disappointment!

Do not fear, dear Man,
they will be kept well,
here in palms;

in succulent, sweaty,
sweet feminine
palms.

Information That I Omitted

I am a little ashamed to admit this
but I am sure I am not the only
girl who has.
I used your body
to remind me of a time
when the waters laid
softly around me. I let your arm lay over my side
and I rested my life against you.
A man carries so much strength and I
borrowed it to catch up
with the chaotic crashing waves of
water that I row through now.

I didn’t need your voice, or your thoughts
or your laugh. I didn’t need the silly act that
men like to play. I didn’t need words dipped in
chocolate
or that sparkle in your smile.

I just needed your feet to curl
mine inside, two strong arms to wrap my
dreams up tight, a heavy chest that could
hold the weight of the heaviness
I hold – I just needed your body
to give mine a mold!