Poetry!
Harems, O Ikons
The man across the classroom from me
could be drawn mostly in ovals,
and, though he is not so old, there is a war
between his black curly hair and his forehead
and the latter is forcing its opponent's retreat.
He thinks himself an intellectual;
when I read his work, I imagine him
imagining himself on the patio of an ancient, wood-paneled cafe
in Prague, or Budapest, or Istanbul,
or some other outlying European capital,
sipping cappuccino as he writes.
He also thinks I'm trying very hard to be subversive,
or maybe that I'm not, but succeeding nonetheless,
a gem of Western decadence.
He certainly thinks, though he can fill whole reams of paper
with his Buonarotti-esque homoeroticism, of course -- that's art! --
that I should stop writing about sex;
about my lover's equine thighs (and other parts
which match the same description)
I never even got to the sapphic premarital assignations,
which would surely scandalize him --
no cock, not even Jupiter's, in sight!
Well, he can clutch his pearls (his pearl necklace?),
but let it be known that I am happy with my destiny
as a daughter of Lilith -- not just a temptress,
but one who never learned shame --
to be a Jezebel succubus who will steal your very lifeblood
and who will wither your erection.
The man across the classroom from me
could be drawn mostly in ovals,
and, though he is not so old, there is a war
between his black curly hair and his forehead
and the latter is forcing its opponent's retreat.
He thinks himself an intellectual;
when I read his work, I imagine him
imagining himself on the patio of an ancient, wood-paneled cafe
in Prague, or Budapest, or Istanbul,
or some other outlying European capital,
sipping cappuccino as he writes.
He also thinks I'm trying very hard to be subversive,
or maybe that I'm not, but succeeding nonetheless,
a gem of Western decadence.
He certainly thinks, though he can fill whole reams of paper
with his Buonarotti-esque homoeroticism, of course -- that's art! --
that I should stop writing about sex;
about my lover's equine thighs (and other parts
which match the same description)
I never even got to the sapphic premarital assignations,
which would surely scandalize him --
no cock, not even Jupiter's, in sight!
Well, he can clutch his pearls (his pearl necklace?),
but let it be known that I am happy with my destiny
as a daughter of Lilith -- not just a temptress,
but one who never learned shame --
to be a Jezebel succubus who will steal your very lifeblood
and who will wither your erection.