The queer scrapes of the bohemian life,
Stoned, booze buzzed, listening to Hair,
With a mellow red light, fashioned from withies,
And a scarlet chiffon scarf,
Knowing those tight pursed red lips,
Are rehearsing the moves on yours,
As she studies the chess board,
uncertain whether to let you win or not…
She has already won twice!
And you are already uncertain as to
which game you are playing?
It’s 3 0’clock in the morning,
And you decide it is now, as you lean forward and
stroke the bald sides of her head,
avoiding the gel of the mohawk,
She feels aflame, always the same…
The scary ones are always the softest.
You lightly brush her lips with yours,
and the electricity sparks.
She stands. The chess board spins.
What music do you wanna fuck to?
She chooses mellow, a Mahler,
Symphony no.5, she shows her taste,
This is for you, the drop of the mask…
Always there below is the broken child,
Still waiting for approval.
You clap your hands and smile,
You make the way to bed, a mattress on the floor,
Both undressing without guile.
And there you lie, with hot octopus limbs,
encircling and enveloping with need,
because love is always a need.
All is soft because you love the softness,
and she with her point to prove,
screams for hardness, screams for more.
And then the booze wishes to be free,
and you jump up half ashamed and fully erect,
run to the bathroom and throw up,
Swig mouthwash from the bottle
and try to make up for the moment
now well and truly lost.
You sleep for a while and then awaken to the
morning glory. This is no gentle affair,
bruises and bites on your shoulder.
She gets up and makes coffee.
you move the sofa in the lounge and pick up
a piece of charcoal, and draw her naked on the wall.
These reckless entanglements, quantum and divine,
This is what you miss if you are always straight.
DALE M 2021