Today’s prompt was to write a poem based on an almanac. Not quite sure the direction mine went in, but I got a couple of strong images from the list and rolled with that.
Your lover wears graffiti and fur.
Her body – low and hungry – is foreign,
untouchable, a mythical beast
talking tongues in an overripe language
talking dirty like a dirty blonde after sundown
talking her love so large her curses so shallow
the bed staggers.
Now, your lover talks in graffiti and art history.
Her mouth is an aqueduct. Her mouth is an airport.
Her mouth is so warm and wet your blood is sent rushing
just to hear her talk. On the phone she’s beside you in a hostel
in Eastern Europe where her heels compact the snow.
She’s with you in a hoteru in Tokyo
standing naked by the window where her body strobes a bikini of neon colours.
She’s with you in the suite in Paris,
exchanging red underwear for that static smile:
Come here you little fool. Kiss me.
Her direction is the last thing you’ll hear
before the atlas of her body floods
the small safety of your distance.