The Secretary's Maggie [Comp' ent']

 The Secretary's Maggie


My heart was circled in red pen
the day you warily let me in,
out from the madding noise in the street
traipsing my meat to meet yours.

We studied the skin from your thigh to your buttock to your navel,
and I took from it you had a half-turned skull
for mulling over too much and dragging yourself through the muck.
We were stuck, you and I, at an impasse.

The earth was craddled by an outside agent
and this, with words stuttered by you in begs and pleas, was our stage.
The look in your eyes, the sincerity on your tongue, the guttering climaxes you must have endured before set.
It killed me.

What I would give to steal your hips and your wrists
and miss not a piece of your lips and your throat,
I could chase down your tongue and swallow myself there
to live in the pit of your small intestine.

To come out again pristine.
To have embraced your muscles and blood,
and this, for the words and the movements of one so waif like, for you.
The world is all new with it's convention and normality
and I am all fluffed with ideas.