This gets a bit yucky. Be warned!
Comments on poetics are welcome.
*thin*
His piss in the toilet,
his siren sweat in the air:
gone, in the light.
In the sink, a glass, his lick
dried on it
somewhere.
In the open bin on the tissues and plastic,
two knotted condoms, 3am, 4am.
He wouldn't stay till morning, add a third.
He wouldn't sleep
beside me.
Naked in my purple bathrobe
I kneel on the vinyl beside the bin,
pick out the condoms, hold
them in my fingers, his come,
no longer white, now cloudy-clear and thin,
his sperm dying.
He was so hot.
From the drawer by the sink
I get the big scissors and, not knowing
what will happen, make a small cut
near the end of one condom. His come rushes
onto my skin, cool, amniotic,
albumen-clingy, thin, slightly
distasteful. I wouldn't lick it,
now.
The kitchen is chill, silent, scentless.
I raise the hand, inhale:
musky, grassy come-smell
tainted with latex.
I can't smell *him*, only
an abstraction.
The life I didn't want
runs over my hand into the bin.
Before I can do anything
I have to wash it off me.
A draft by Janet Jackson
21 January 2010
--
Janet Jackson: Words with attitude & soul
Poems Performances Workshops Courses
Creative, technical and corporate writing
Editing
[log in to unmask]
www.proximitypoetry.com
Perth Poetry Club: www.perthpoetryclub.com
The Line Mine, bulletin board for Perth poetry & spoken word:
[log in to unmask]
groups.yahoo.com/group/thelinemine
Breastfeeding info & help: www.breastfeeding.asn.au
|