The Absinthe Literary Review

Poetics
by Michael McAvan
  

Open

I'm sore later
but

before

I lay on my stomach
and you,
KY slick,

slid into me
and I
parted.

Gratuitous

The director said no,
this is art
and indeed
it is hard to argue
with the sheer artistry
of a seventeen-year-old girl’s
crotch.

Proof

I stalk the city looking for sex

It's everywhere
I can't find it

It's always just left the room
the scent of cum and lube
tease me, I breathe
in deeply but absorb nothing.

I stare at crotches
as if the secret were there,
a treasure map,
X marks the spot.

I should be looking at heads.

I overhear conversations
listen to Prince and
learn nothing.

And stare jealously at children, 
those living, breathing
testimonies to other people's fucking.

Barrier 

It's not a good time.

Thin, clear
hard rubber
reservoir

It worked, thank Christ.

But I don't want
to be protected 
from you.

  

© 2005 Michael McAvan

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