For Hiding Toes, who asked for this poem
In the corner of a kitchen sink
Darting flicks of ducking pink
Lizzy-vizzy quiet repulsion
When are you getting a tongue extension?
His beady eyes stare the wall
Dead to every single mating call
Slow to life, once he blinks
Too much effort, back he sinks.
A sly hand chops his tail
The tap ignores his wretched wail
The bitty-bit bops in severed glory
Divorced forever of his killjoy body.
You haven’t touched me
But I find your body
Flooding into me
Swimming up stream
To peer out of my eyes.
Your compliments hurt me
Little bruises of pride
That I worry and scratch at
Till they bleed
Blood, red, droplets of sense.
It doesn’t work though.
I want you to pour me
Down the parched waiting
Of your excessive asceticism
And I’ll turn clumsy drenching somersaults
Destroying your carefully concealed dried-up longing.
Lash at me, let the welts rise
Tip me over from the edge of you
I’ll splinter into the pores of your skin
Happy, hopeful, shining nobody.
I am not afraid.
I have trusted tongues before
And in their betrayal
I have always found myself.