In case you were wondering why I don’t write poetry…
Just took a jaunt down memory lane and came across a little something that’s too embarrassing not to share with hundreds of anonymous strangers.
I wrote it years ago, while briefly dating an actor whom I fondly refer to these days as “Mindfuck Guy…”
And now, for your giggling pleasure, I present:
My palm sweats, clammy
beneath the blood of his heart.
I just finished squeezing the life out of it,
and no, there was no enjoyment in it for me.
I do this for myself.
It’s just coincidence that I was making love
to another man’s brain at the time.
I can’t help myself. You see, I
just looked back and I was gone.
My education continues and the
epicenter of my sensuality has vacated
its home between my legs and taken up
residence in my cranium.
I like these shoes.