Delictum

Crime scene between your legs.
Cops dust for swastikas
on an apple bruise
seeping through the G-string
you wore once for me.
It grins a crinkled malice with the promise
of progression.

You were never naked.
A lonesome wristwatch ticked too fast astride your pulse,
or a voyeuristic slip across your back would dare me,
"Eat a peach,"
and every time I grasped your breasts
I felt as if I'd censored you.

Author notes

Another "film noir" poem (see "Noir Avenue"). More symbolic, but no less gritty (I hope). Actually, I think this one's better.

Wrote this suffering from a particularly acute bought of depression and anxiety one Sunday morning. I refuse to label it as "angst" though: this isn't the least bit existential (as the modern meaning seems to reflect). If I could, I would label this as "modernist", as I did on SharePoetry. I'm not a fan of post-modernism (in general; though I like some post-modernist writers in particular), and I was working more in the tradition of Eliot than anyone else (as you might be able to tell). I like how this turned out. A very painful "one night stand" sort of poem. Sometimes you just blow them off (poems, I mean...women should never be blown. They should be licked).

Anyway, I'm not looking for suggestions so much as critiques (if you think you have a good suggestion, though, by all means, tell me). This is pretty much a finished product, and I very much want opinions. Be sure to say "why" you like it though. That means so much more to me than "This is great". Also tell me why you dislike it. That means much more than "I hate it."

Disclaimer:

I use the image of the swastika...fingerprints sometimes look like twirly ones, I find. I apologize for stepped on feet, but I like strong imagery. If I used something else, it would have been tepid. I don't care about tepid poetry.
Written August 19th, 2006