Call it What You Like

Can you imagine?
Let me show you this feeling
Waiting here - legs trembling
Just inches from
Just inches and trembling
There’s a scream
It’s there and pure and twisted all rolled up in one ball
Of madness and purity
They are my ecstasy
It’s rising up
And up and rising
Pillows and quilts and towels and straps
Your breathing changing
Shortening the gaps
the scream is deafening to me
Breathing quickening, screaming deafening
Ears waiting - is that queer?
A weakness for you and your breath in my ear
Imagining whispers - but your breath is as good as the filth that I hear
Tongues hard then soft and harder still
Pleasure pain and screams rolling round in my brain
Soon rolling around that scream will rush out
Rushing out with elastic and zips
And your quickening breath
And your fingers that tap out tunes on my hips
Each part of my life swelling up on your lips
Fingers that tap and that soothe and excite
And hearing my screaming boil up tonight
Shaking and taking you in
And in
And my neck waiting for your mad kiss
Madly kissing my skin
Can you imagine
Imagine this, legs shaking
Skin shining, waiting, aching,
Legs shaking, scream boiling
Pain pleasure
Pleasure pain
Here it all comes in one deafening scream
Then we’re quiet again.

Public Display

I want to grab you
Yeah, because I like you
But really
I want to turn you upside down and shake you
I want to put my hand in your throat
And drag out something
Pull apart your heart
And look for some trace of me.
Anything, some scar or smile.
Did you tattoo my name on your tongue
So when you speak
Every word has my name, short as it is,
Echoed on the end?
So everyone knows
That you think about me too,
To talk about me
And drop my name casually, as I drop yours,
In to any conversation.
I want to grab you
And stand you on the table
Sweep away the beer mats and glasses and have you dance a jig,
I want to pull down your trousers and show the world my bite marks on your bum.
Time Enough

His things looked pretty much the same
A room filled with ghosts of other people, their trinkets
Picked out from dereliction
A year’s dust naming them now as his own
I wrote my name in it
On a happier day
And waited for him to notice
And waited
But a year had passed since I’d been there.
He was still leaving the door on the latch
I had warned him of unwanted guests
Never thinking I’d be one
In just a year
 - just a year?
Time enough for the dust to settle cosily
Like the someone else’s knickers
on the floor.

I could enjoy going mad
Smilingly sliding into my immoral pit
With each slice of sanity disappearing
Another care
My hair
Filthy and shameless
I’d eat shit and spit
Out the bits, which, for whatever reason,
Displease my madness.
I’d wear my skirt so short
And my stockings would be wrecked with holes, some hopefully stitched
Stares as I stumble, mindless and happy
Down the street, are distorted in my madness and perceived as desire
My twisted red lips promise something other than decency
‘I wouldn’t mind having sex in a toilet’ they say
‘smeared with other people’
Some dirty, drunk stranger would suit my demeanor now
And we’ll fall out of our cubicle with a post coital can of tenants to share
But not our names.
Or I could call myself Sue
I could quite enjoy going mad.

Chisel maybe.
Anything cruel, hard.
Just here - if you could just break my face
Loosen off the ivory grip.
Can you slide your finger between incisors
And yank down the flesh?
Ugly and uglier to come.
Hideous words will dribble out and punctuate pathetic tears.
You can disregard the tongue and heart; they’re useless now and have been no friend to me.
So, trying not to make me gag
(even in bitterness I have my conventions) onwards and I feel upwards is the proper course
Here you’ll find the messy truth of the grey matter
And somewhere there amongst the floodlit brilliance and the shopping lists and amidst the lovers and the liars you’ll find your place,
Where you fit in to this ‘piece‘ ‘bit’ ‘bird’ ‘tart’
And of course you do.
Sorry to fuck up your clean shirt,
I can be ‘such a bitch’
Funny that!

 Laying Bare

My reflection isn’t me
The cold glass says not what I am
A finger dips in the soapy sink
And paints around my strange face
I look for me in the dripping lines
Sure that I’m somewhere
But not in this towelled tatty body
- some other, skinless place
Where all eyes are open to see and mouths to soothe
This soulless mirror mimics my clumsy naked motherhood yet disregards the demonic deeds that have made me this.
Murmurs of pain ghost across my flesh
I wonder if anyone sees me
Or just this vast vacuous vessel
Staring back from the bathroom wall.
My fat fist pounds my mocker and a million shattered me’s scatter
Each with an edge sharp enough to rip into this gut, exposing life’s purpose,
I take one to the waiting water
Run it’s eloquent pointedness from elbow to wrist, laying bare the core of me.
As my naivety billows hot fat tears a red river runs away with all that was truly me.
The cold glass says not what I was
But what you saw.