Your innocence bores me.
Your childish chesire-cat-grin-fingertongues
Stumbling on my skin
Are too eager to please.
I’m lying stiff and unbending
Pretending not to notice the
You cannot keep from my nectarineflesh
And your hunger?
Gives me indigestion.
Not that is isn’t wonderful to be a woman
But what use I am selling sexwine to a boy
When he suckles it like candy and leaves me dry?
For once I would like to be something ordinary,
Not some kind of new technology
An unexplained phenomenon.
Something old and useful
Your raggedy blanket
Your favorite book.