a poem for a lonely night
(with a nod to Miller, Nin and Kerouac who kept her company)
let me take you to a jazz show please
to celebrate that
intricate relationship between
the music and the body
let us marvel at the many ways
that the spine can move
the back can distort that a
fantasy can be interpreted
then after I will confess as we gaze upon a canvas
surrendered under a bloody sheath
that everytime I stand before
it and certain others I fight
the urge to lick
the texture left by the artist’s brush
just above the left corner
do you see it?
in the cab, let me practice my insouciance
I’ll gaze out the window
as we
pull up outside a dark cafe
where we shall drink with heads
bent low and you can tell me a
story about a stranger in a
statue garden
and because you are a friend
I’ll let you
slam me up against
a brick wall
dry hump me
fill me with cognac
and then I’ll send you
on your way
content
at
last and ready
to call it a night.
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