A lurch of visceral fleshed mysteries inside
stone faced unconcern as my heart howls.
Hot plastic bus seat stuck to my thighs
commanding the future in internal growls.
An inch bubble of air prickles above my much
freckle speckled skin. Smooth orchid petal, rare
yet sensitive and aware of casual touch
dear fly. I am a sulphured match poised to flare.
How I yearned after your sly clever smile.
To push the errant hair that threatens to spill
over your eyes – your true heart and all the while
A stubborn sense of right and wrong and the will
to set your shoulder against the ill and push.
To think your way through the world even now
Today I’m glad to be your friend and would blush
to know you’d read my heart and knew that how
from my bed I could see your bedroom light
shining across the block of hunched moonlit shrubs
and, dreaming, flung the end of my regard into the night.
Thin spun filament, a-thrum between us as I touched
myself. I dreamt sweet happy hopeless things
tenderer for the fact they’d never see fruition.
That scent, a rotten one – wasp eaten apples bring.
I will never mix touch with love of my own violation
The men I fucked; older, harder, on the make
I cast myself as a slack poppet – pliant to their desire.
Sex already tainted. Bent early out of shape. I
gave myself no choices. Delivered what was required.
Now wrapped in hard won happiness it is easy
to look back. Laugh, show regret but there’s no shame
in picking you – or those feelings. Instead I feel queasy
with pity and sorrow. It is hard not to blame
Yet blame never brought me change. I did that.
Myself. Cognitive reconstruction – catastrophe
meant court sent self examination. Gave me back
choices. That led me to him, them and intimacy.
