I'm latently aware of your desire to bend me over my broken desk and fuck me.
There was never any need to get soaked by the summer rain storm, so that you could strip naked in the office five feet from my eyes with that door yawning open. I'm already distinctly aware of a curving of muscles, the raw sexuality that is fat with your feedings.
You couldn't be more obvious, if you wore a yellow tutu and dipped into a graceful bow. Or more obviously exploiting the fact that we work in this building entirely alone.
You strike me as an oxymoron, while we talk about your girlfriend you've lived with for years. And I remind you how she's sticky and layered in cinnamon like dessert. You lick your lips and I seal mine.
At least we're no longer kind to each other. That kind of congeniality never suited either of us.
You've simply admired the way my eyes linger where your hands touch yourself.
Lately my lacking is not desire shaped as the white baret I wore today or the silky cream sweater. It is dark and binds itself closer to my snug black skirt.
It's not that I want to toss you on a bed but more that I think of throwing you against the hard floor. There shouldn't be any escape backwards into the springs and creaks you see. This would be a kindness I don't feel.
When really, I'd only part my legs and cover your face in the folds of pale pale skin.
I would press down hard, leaning forward and smother you.
I would demand your tongue and suction. I would tell you, that this isn't about you- and I don't want you to enjoy this.
I would rub roughly across your nose, to make sure you can't breathe at all through my skin and wet. I would briefly wonder how you would explain this to your cinnabon sweetheart if I nearly suffocated you.
If I had to, I would pin your thick arms beneath my thighs, so that you could never touch yourself. 'This is not about you.' I would say again. 'I don't even want to even remember your name.'
If you struggle, I think it would be better.
But I guess I can't force such nurturing sensuality, when your crushed down on the dirty carpet under my full weight.
I'm aware this is a violent tendency that lurks within whatever it is that I've become.
It's been a few years since I pushed that part of myself off a cliff.
Now it's lying in ICU with the monitors beeping, sleeping in a coma on life support. I just hope it doesn't wake some ten years later out of the blue, making the nightly news as if it were some miracle of perseverance and strength. Newscasters spewing that this is the audacity of hope.
But it's just audacity.
When men tell me they love me, I can never feel anything at all.
And so I sit day after day in that desk chair,
desperately wondering why not.
Author notes
i'm sure this will get more comments than most of my work, because it's to do with sex. that's a bit annoying~
In a list
A contest entry
- Compelled by Nicole Hanna.
2000 points, ended September 21, 28 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 16 of 16
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The opening line here is a stunner! It reminds me of several experiences of my own in the office after hours. And the lack of name memory also strikes home! I am impressed by this and firstly I'd like to invite you to read a tasteful poem of my own: http://allpoetry.com/poem/5916451 and secondly please enter my Memories contest as I feel sure you would hit the medals running! Here's a sexy hug for you
and a clap too.
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Such itty bitty eyes, on such a large canvas.. The equaled minds should swell the rivers of your mind into oceans ~ and drowned their sound away.. Let it..
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The game of life and desire watched with cool eyes and no pretence. A raw take on love and passion when romance and respect have melted away because of lack of commitment but this is only my perception of course. Well done and so real.
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Congratulations hon!
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That's a hell of a beginning. And so f'ing poignant in it's honesty. But I think it was the "we're no longer kind to each other" line that spoke to me the most. The piece, as a whole, was sexual and sensual and lovely in that regard, but it was that one line that spoke more to me than every other line in the poem. This was the line that said this poem was about real people in a real situation, and I could relate on so many levels. Beautiful and raw. Just like I like it.
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I've read some of your other work in the features-box before, and I always enjoy it. You write with passion, with subtle overtures of violence and a dark, manic sort of fervour that allows your audience to connect with you on a more-intimate level. Your choice of tone and language are superb, and you've got diction to a science as well. I like the not-a-letter, not-quite-prose format you've used here too; it's definitely different.
It's poems like these that have the greatest capacity to reach out and touch people, though most fall short of the mark. Yours didn't, and I'm glad I've had the opportunity to read this. I'll have to start becoming a more-devoted fan.
Well done.
L.
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Damn. this is awesome. I LOVED IT. Can't pick a favorite part, but I think I will come back and read some more. very powerful, girl. I like the raw and tempestuous feelin to it.
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Hmm I'm sorry but i hardly saw anything relating to sex in this piece, except in some small parts. I find that its lacking in imagery and you could have done a better job of it. But I'm sure others would like it as minds vary. You could have done more with this piece imo
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I have to tell you... I see it in the featured items everytime I log on... the title is horrible... it grosses me out
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Wow, this is just an amazing piece. I am flabberghasted by it.
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my first impression was like wow and i didn't know sex was involved until i began reading it. Also i never thought it being potrayed that way and it made me think a little. Anyway good write.
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Considering your author notes, maybe you didn't feature this?
Content more than form jumps out at me here. The oddity of female sexual violence, of its being anything but passive or the other extreme, but a sort of punishment for the chronic male urge. But then, its personal with the closing lines.
Form works well. I question only the words in bold, though your emphasis perhaps should not be questioned, being yours.
It flows like prose, perhaps meant to be both prose/poetry, they mix well here. I would read your novel, if you've written one. I'm thinking of Amelie Nothomb, hope the comparison isn't poorly received. I love her books.
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lol your author notes made me smile.
very interesting, ms. 77. i like the selfish nature of this. good for you. screw him (haha literally).
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this was an absolutely amazing experience.
your work is VERY MUCH appreciated on my end of the spectrum. -
Pass me the tea... lol. I was fascinated, if this isn't compelling, what is? And it's not the sex, it's the tone, the mood behind the sex that I find myself relating too. Really rivoting, the deep cynicism is scored with such despondency. I really liked this, and I'm not being just nice, so there.
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not my cup of tea... but I clicked so I commented...
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