An Erotic One (#poetry)

My ideal for sex
is of bored eyes;
bored eyes
and an idle finger in her sex
then left.

And she’s bored too –
so bored she doesn’t feel it,
so bored she doesn’t want it,
her eyes splayed out across the ceiling
like a body in a pathologist’s lab.
But she doesn’t not want it either.
She doesn’t decide.
Like the decision that brought us here
it’s left to one side,
(or nothing so exact as left).
At the limit of our dreaming,
we simply can’t care.
a fat-skinned worm inured to touch,
and we,
autistic children in our separate muck
together apart
  1. Beautiful

    • Google
    • September 26th, 2014

    I think I get poetry now. Well done.

    • That’s probably the best thing a stranger’s ever said to me 🙂

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