With Innocence

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

lately

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

imply it…

when pushed against an emergency

door

and our shoes like petals are stuck to

the floor

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

winding.

I balance out all of your gnawing

with grinding,

while stamping my lust to the floor

like a soldier.

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