Last night, bone-cold, lonely,
grieving on the tired
street-corner of my life,
I hungered for quick comfort,
closeness, your accommodating
warmth -
no questions asked.
You, too, had a need; open, empty,
hanging in my sudden hands.
A slight, soft breath,
defenceless, slipped your lips
as I filled you, forced you,
screwed you down
to hold you, after, burning in my
arms,
searing my belly, the tongues of
flame flick-licking down my thighs;
you lay beside me, easy,
answering my every need; content
at last
to rest against my aching
shoulder, still,
but exorcising fear.
In the end, sleep.
Morning now; warmed, healed and
comforted,
I wake to find you ugly,
old and raddled in my bed,
cold and flaccid by my morning
side...
It’s all over;
I’ve done with you now,
hot water bottle.
(January, 1989)
