Monica

It started as an experiment:
To transfuse my Daddy-Complex with yours.
My distraught allure was to be
Tattooed onto your overwhelming
Sex.

I hoped we’d neutralise,
But instead we evolved.
Our creature grew wings
And tentacles;

The innuendo became concrete.

We coughed it up,
We named it,
We joked affectionately at its crude ugliness.

I dreamt one night that you shoved your fingers
In and out
Of my phlegm-lined throat.

I dreamt one night I took our creature to visit and stayed with it

With it

With you.

I am a fading Dandelion:
No longer the blazing sunshine of unobtainable desire,
But now able to fly and float
and infiltrate your lungs.
I give you no choice but to consume me.

We are both banal poets.
We suck up our orchestrated misery
And puke it up
In stanzas.

I summarise my addictions:
Catharsis, Red Wine, and Shouldn’t.

And you. And you.

You are the sun; crystals through tear-sodden eyelashes.
You are the purging retch
Of last night’s binge.

You tell me I’m hideous:
Fondly, not-so-fondly.

I know I rub you up the wrong way
I know I rub you up the right way

I feel like a blown-out egg:
Empty, fragile
And vainly decorated.

I’ve grown terrified of our creature:
I tell you it will expand like that peach and eat us up like that wolf:
You tell me I read too much and think too little.

What I need is resolution:
A cure for the irreversible eradication of my charm.
What I want is for you to chain me to my pedestal
And fuck me to next Tuesday.

But, my friend, there is a distinct lack of positive possibilities.
Hand in hand
We face a tangible horizon.

This alabaster princess realises that some things cannot be actions,
Without becoming traits:
That some people cannot be touched,
Without being absorbed

And that the thing we engendered is now bigger than both of us.

You throttle me,
I throttle It.
But our creature eats lust: shits lies
And thrives.

And so I take it to the vet
To have the injection
But the vet says
We share a lung,
We share a lung.

Oh God
I am Siamese-d with our travesty.
I am warped into it into you into us.

And so the snake eats its own tail out of hunger,
Out of boredom.

And the girl strokes the swan
Though she knows damn well it bites.

The minatour follows the string back to you.
And Little Red Riding Hood opens her legs for the wolf.

And I lie here
Knowing that you are lying there

And slowly slowly disintegrating
Into the contrived inevitability of it all.