“How did you fuck her, the first time”?
He asked me, hunched over his warm, pallid beer
His eyes did not meet mine as he offered the question
But the pain in his voice was not feigned or jealous
So I stared straight ahead, and I said:
The first time….
as a man…. consumed by the spirit.
….at war with his senses
….deprived of his reason
….aflame with abandon- A wrecker of cities!
A fascist torcher of volumes!
A bomber of churches! I tore down her house
Was it slow, gentle and tender?
– No, it was not. There were wheels of mighty fire.
Were you angels, borne on nightwings?
– We were as rutting dogs.
Was she your coy and modest lover?
– No boundaries were proclaimed and none were presumed
Did she cry out my name?
– She said your cock was puny
“How did she fuck you, the first time”?
He asked me, his fingers drew mad little circles
In the melt-water, laying on the bar, in the darkness
His eyes fixed ahead on some pale sightless blade
That he twisted, inside of himself.
The first time….
She was fierce…. in hard raging silence
…. She was all raking nails
…. flaying flesh from my shoulders
…. She was a thunderhead of intent.
Intent, power, perfume and charity.
She said my cock was her cross
And my cum was the cold, cruel nails.
And how were her breasts, that time?
– They filled my hands, my mouth, they hang above me and they engulfed me
And how were her hips, that time
– They were hard and strong and insistent. They gave up their secrets with purpose.
And how was her ass, that time
– Her ass was a tribute to roman architecture
And how was her temple, her pussy, her sex?
– Her pussy was a rusty stubble that abraded my skin as it ground against me.
He stared, dead ahead, I caught his eyes in the mirror
And he nodded, and drew on his beer.