Desire is the bull. He is heavy with muscle and blind with instinct. He wants to eat, mate, slobber and, should the opportunity arise, run us through with his dirty horns. He can not be blamed for any of it. We admire his simplicity, fertility, and power. He scares the living daylights out of us. The following text is about desire. I write to feel the power of creation, destruction, control. Writing gives me what I can not have in life and delivers me from the agony of domesticity.

Friday, June 09, 2006

Bitter Little Ditty

Something old, something new,
Something borrowed, something blue,
Something wet, something thick,
I think you might do the trick.

Something sweet, something pure,
Something built strong to endure,
Something moist, something steamy,
Something succulent and dreamy.

Something cold, something bland,
Something hard to understand,
Something warm, something hard,
Something big, for I am starved.

You like me hot, you like me cold,
You want me free, you find me sold,
I am nothing, I am sex,
I am simple, too complex.

I am woman, hear me squeal,
I’ll make it soft, smooth, unreal,
Taste my mouth, warm and wet
I’m the one you won’t forget.

Love is clear, love is blind,
Love’s a stupid waste of time,
Sex is clear, bittersweet,
Little affection, lots of meat.

Something borrowed, something blue,
Something everyone must do,
Something old, something new,
Something altogether shrewd.

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