Innocence is like polished armour – it adorns, and it defends.
Slumping on upwards with
her kiss in my hair,
A circle of knees are her
musical chairs and
pearls fat as the moon
glint in the gloom
as we fall forehead-first
up a full flight of stairs.
(Pink balloons at the mouth of a party, inflating,
For a kiss on the cheek you can watch me fellate him…)
I tell you I love you,
All sullen and dainty,
and that even the death-wish I’ve flirted with
paints trails on my faces and
colours me saintly,
But you want me most (and don’t
try to deny it)
when my bones and groans and eyes all
when pushed against an emergency
and our shoes like petals are stuck to
and I realise as I unpick your flies
just what my fucking hands are for.
“There’s a boy over there – don’t
look so embarrassed!
he’s up by the bar and he’s utterly pissed,
and do you think
that he’s ever been kissed…
(said with a wink)
quite like this?”
“So how much did you miss it?
The dancing and dirt?”
You press crooked grins to the stripes
on my shirt,
folded over my shoulder
like a toy that needs
I balance out all of your gnawing
while stamping my lust to the floor
like a soldier.