allegory for evermore

 
she lays there with her mouth open a little, her legs open
just enough. she wants it because she knows I want it.
knows I want her.

she tells me things, too many things. hassles & worries & escapes.
escapes to poetry, art, & music. to the arms of the man she believes
me to be. she says my name too much. maybe to hear it echo in
the lonely, lovely dark.

we make a list of things a man & woman can write about. love. sex.
a broken hero or a fallen angel. the last light of moons & motels &
the horrible distance a heart can cry.

what her face looks like, how her hair feels when I’m near. the
uncertainty of embraces  –  why she would want a man like me
this close to her.

as she awaits my entry (her cunt’s subtle petrichor), she listens vaguely
to the night sounds. the blonde singer, singing slave to love. a
melancholy melody delivered by the rain, a train going somewhere
that’s not here.

when I go in, it’s eager & raw, its name is desperation. I need it without
asking forgiveness.  of heaven or hell.

poetry is far away, but close. it’s in a cigarette pack. in a whiskey bottle.
2 cups of coffee  –  if we write about it, it won’t be this pretty…


(Art: Nanni Mensch)