baby capers

baby capers

i knew a girl once,
who kept a spunk jar.

one that she filled
from cold morning condoms,
or spat leisurely
from her hot mischief mouth.

originally,
it had contained tartare sauce
(the jar that is - i can’t speak for her mouth).

sitting on the shelf
in her fridge door,
it kind of looked the same.

possibly it smelt similar.

she used to take out the jar,
and stare deep into it.
like it was a scrying glass,
and she was trying
to get past
something.

“that’s all the babies
i’ll never have”,

she used to like to tell me.

“because you don’t love me enough”.

it took me a long time,
to realise
i didn’t.