poem: summer fruit in the city

so is this what it takes? we are not meant to speak

of the inner life, the girls falling like apples;

it should all be chaste: small stories

of people kissing in stations and camps,

her glory fluttering under your hands,

her becoming

all raw and red. you thought you were a god

because she liked you, because she licked pencils

to the sound of your heartbeat. I hate to tell

you, but girls are all

monsters: we want sex

and nothing else.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s