book of numbers

We women know--
that to everything,
there is assigned a number.

From the creatures gathered two by two before the flood,
to the 666 of the beast,
each thing has a value before God.

Let men talk
and talk
and talk.
We know the natural math of the rings within each tree,
growing silently and for their own purposes.

We women can feel it--
23 pairs to a strand inside us,
three seasons gone before the first cry comes.

Here is the real importance of numbers--
how much yeast to a loaf,
how much sugar to the flour,
and how may places to set for those we call ours.

Meanwhile, men count borders,
build-ups,
and days left to linger in hell
when the things worth counting have been obliterated.
_________

 
 
 

tempered

You knew I had horns,
just like I knew you had guts--
pretty, guileless ones
that fell off the turnip truck of your silly white bones
and onto their points, like ringers.

You knew I breathed fire,
just like I knew you breathed smoke--
trying to make yourself into an ethereal angel,
soft and white, impaled on a stick
and turned to ashes right under my nose.
______

image by Lolamouse

for Real Toads weekend mini-challenge

  

 

Postal Logic

the pious sex toy

The pious sex toy feels that its daily life
does not reflect its deepest yearnings.

Why is it that others' desires must always come first?
The plunging, buzzing, frantic inanity of the toy's utility
masks a quieter, more contemplative nature.

"Oh God!" screams the owner, but the owner knows nothing of piety.
Her rosary hangs from the door knob,
reduced to the status of unseen ornament.

Tucked in its drawer, the pious sex toy has hours to devote
to prayer and fasting.
How jarring to be taken from these musings
and made to gyrate and probe,
leaving lubricant everywhere.

Dignity is hard to come by for a sex toy,
and eternal life is only a joke when, after all,
the toy is completely dependent on its off-brand sale-priced batteries.

"I am not even a real rabbit, like in the storybook,"
says the pious sex toy.
"I am not velveteen, but rather, hard plastic.
My owner reserves her love for Bob, who never appears,
though she calls out for him.
I think he may not be real himself."

The pious sex toy cannot even request to be taken to church.
How absurd!
What a scandal!
At least there is a bible in the drawer where the toy is kept,
along with a Tarot deck missing The Fool,
and an old tube of hooker red lipstick
with which the pious toy underlines its favorite passages
to be found again easily
like a G Spot.
___________

the inappropriate wrist watch

The inappropriate wrist watch
does not tell the time;
it slyly suggests.

Like the acquaintance not respectful of personal space,
the wrist watch takes your arm--
obsequious and demanding all at once.

The inappropriate wrist watch leers and fidgets,
making "two forty-seven p.m."
sound vaguely filthy and perverted.

In addition to the time, the inappropriate wrist watch offers the date.
The little number sits there,
like a room key from some misadventure drenched in shame.

If thy wrist watch offends thee, pluck it off!
However, then there is the problem of the tan line,
pale and not meant to be seen, like flab.

The inappropriate wrist watch is the admirer one cannot discourage--
the one who shows up at the door at odd hours
wearing shoes with mouths, and clicking its teeth like a second hand.

How, then, to avoid being lured into depravity and ruin
by one's inappropriate wrist watch?
Ask not for whom the tinny chime tolls--

it tolls for thee.
____________

 

green shirt

I like your green shirt.
You wear it out at your hips,
and undone at your throat
to the perfect balance between promise and secrecy.

I like your glasses.
Your dark hair sometimes rests on the place
where the bow meets the frame,
and curves around it in a way that just undoes me.

Though I love them on you,
how I long to remove your shirt,
--gently--
your glasses
--gently--
with fingertips and long kisses.

Tonight my sleep will be slow in coming,
for thinking of you, your name, and these desires.
Then, in the silent hour, I will dream of pine forests
and streams that bend to reflect the stars.
_______

 

your favorite lesbian

It's important to know your girl,
because the way to her heart
starts at the outside.

I always wanna know
every little thing--
what floats your boat
and what cramps your style--
I'll always want you to gimme the details.

I just watched your favorite lesbian
on that show you told me about.
You know what, baby?
She reminds me of me. 

A favorite is a fine thing to have...
every day of my life I think about mine.
I heart her. You know?
I heart her, my dark brilliant baby.
Heart her like crazy.
________

Find the scene I was writing about HERE.