I can’t describe love, it’s too recent
but I can talk all around it, negative space
It’s simply too much otherwise, sagging
shelves stacked with memories and trinkets,
so here i stand, talking about:
Sex.
Like fine wine:
bitter, the passage of time
smooth, like a brand new car, the rumble
and whine
of a sweet oiled engine.
i wasted you,
i think to myself.
The moon is swelled, like a bag full of milk and I
wasted you.
I squandered and laid,
my emotions flayed
bare and beaten, my body and ass,
and i begged
you to pull on my hair.
And I could have done that with any
other
body, or fur
the same, him or her
but twas you whom I frittered
the bearded and tame, the vulture
and lame, i couldn’t have walked far away.
I wish I had saved you:
someone to memorize
with green and blue stained-glass, mottled
light-through-trees-on-a-pond, and you throttled
a hand on my hand on my throat, Aristotled
the night away,
discourse, and
monolouging,
what were the kindest of eyes.
Knights at a round table have
nothing on you, how you’re so able to
draw such submissions from I, such
confessions, professions, I was so-
fucking-
high-
(why the fuck did you let me drive?)
and I wasted you.
“you weren’t a rebound…”
yeah you were. but i’m sorry that i found
a finger of comfort, a teaspoon
in your softness, a trickery
of faded security
in your hot, grown-up grip,
and when you held me and fucked me and
whispered:
“baby,”
I felt so fucking fine.
I felt…
I felt.
I wasted you.
On my desensitized self, I wasted you.
Just a prop for an old sagging shelf, I wasted you,
a blanket to cover the old, threadbare lover
that i don’t have the words to describe,
and i just really liked your whole vibe,
and i wasted you.
You wouldn’t believe
how I wasted
the heart on my sleeve, and
you tasted
the apple of eve and
you didn’t want more of that sin,
what a shame,
what a shame,
what a shame.
i don’t even like sex.
I would make you feel good, guarantee it,
but your mind is too scared to foresee it
Yeah.
i wanted you then and i still do,
god, i wanted the things that you could do
to make me feel good and used up
choke me and empty my cup
ram your body through mine and i’ll kneel
at your feet and your head
break my spine, and i’ll yield
you can take what you’ll eat,
fresh fruit peeled,
god i want you to make me, please
make
me
feel.
Raleigh women's art collective 