Concupiscence

I study there in your sudor pool
which through this night is drip-fed

off your hips and thighs in twists
where your legs are no more your legs

but become – as shown in textbooks
your annotated groin – with pointers

Here is your barrow – lightly grazed
Here is your sliced mound – raw

In my geography – in my history –
in my biology classes – I looked away

Now – older – I work at my lessons –
although I am coming to them late

on this foundation course – of sorts –
of how-to and not-to evening lectures

You kneel down – as my flesh lectern –
and with your open mouth

help me regain my lost confidence –
under instruction – you guide me in study

To Sleep

Entwinements of sweat
fill this floatation tank –
flooded by drips off sex

as we lap at salt and skin
with gluttonous tongues
in our unbashful fucking

All we see is unseen
fingering and penetration
in our deep-diving minds

as we couple-up into eases
of our ache-numb limbs –
softening in worn lips

We fall into that sudden sleep
of found love’s discomforts –
Never wake from such reverie

Sex Over Fifty-four

For J

I had not been woken so
by a kiss
in living memory
I am set alive
And other old weights
have been lifted
by her lightness of
kind eyes and soft lips
upon my ageing nakedness
unknown so
since teenage kicks were first felt
hurting
through unresolved desires
but we are now old enough
to not blush and to do it well
Sex was invented
in the sixties for us

yo-yo

you you spoke far too soon
’bout your last sandman
’bout that last sandman
’bout your spare fuck man
you you spoke far too soon
’bout men and squirting sex
and bad sex in warm rooms
you you spoke far too soon
’bout a man ’bout your sandman
’bout your sniffed white lines
’bout men limp in your bedroom
you you drunk you you drunk
in a bar with a man not Oman
with a man whom you you knew
a first cousin on your account
first cousins count as last lovers
you you spoke after five hangups
you you answered five before were
five unanswered lies after lies after
you you gave it a week a week
post-valentines after your card
cards swapped rarely by you you
control-alt-delete you you soon

Other Rings

It is not always possible to shake off worn things
such as tightening bonds or shortening memories
Feel them slow on each hour around an empty ring finger
You lost a clasped diamond and made a claim for payment
whilst seeking an arrangement with a rich man’s mounting
On whom you’ll spin with ease around his old stiffening fingers
You were chanced upon – for sale – a maiden’s old tale
Seeking an agreement to include sparkling benefits
Diamonds are et cetera – whilst you lie beside strangers

That Farmer’s Wife

Tess was never an unalloyed maid –
not Hardy’s vessel of pure emotion
untinctured by innocence

Such country girls are as scarce
as a hen’s brightly bared tooth
Too hastily judged? Or not?

She was metallic – below – to me
When bared – again – by a kindred
lover – our fusion rubbed to rust

Divisions of men – such she kept
mapped close enough to feel – to plot
and find her way – only her eyes shut

whilst her barn doors swung wide
to near-unhinged arcs of openings –
as her balm of blood – of love’s slaughter –

blew out on her cousin’s stunk breath
as he bent with her to snort at troughs
aligned by credit cards – then blocked

All a loss – it is no more a sweet place
Not for me – Sour scents off her wetness
turn on Etkin-Bell’s ring finger

All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten
her odour as he wipes his creased brow
She dragged too many too close by lies

Takeaways

How shall I study
your offered body?
With intimate sight
through my fingertips

I shall measure your
almost-bare prospect
as a blinded map maker
set to plotting contours

Such thoughts ease
into my half-dreams
Each stroke takes me
by pathways on dips

then up to almost-chalk
landscapes of Downs –
stretched before slept travel
Before sleep’s other sights