hasn’t shared a bed with a man
two decades
nor smelt the tenor of his hands weighing
on her sleep
place telescope by the moon
stare at what you do not find familiar
all those girls who wake
next to, wrapped in, rubbed up against
the arms of another species it seems
no reflection of themselves
she has only seen
her own reflection
in the curl of her neck to her shoulder
honeyed wisp of them as they cover
rounded buttocks on the way to dimpled shower
girls instinctively know
what to hide and what to reveal
as cats will roll on their belly in trust
giving just enough
holding a claw in the air just incase
she unclenched herself to the water spirit
when the river found its surge she fell
tumbling below surface
where hands that are both small and strong
loins of silver, mouths of tangerine
kiss her delirious
do you think as you draw your pastiche
of a woman with a phallus mounting a girl wearing cherries on her cheeks
do you contemplate wife-beaters and bound breasts
considering the ugliness of plastic stand-ins
and Kerry who came from Nova Scotia said
I’d be gay if I didn’t have to perform oral sex
that disgusts me
but imagine, I could have some rest
my boyfriend he is hard as driftwood
every morning at six
her legs closed to dynamite
squeezing residue of clichés between her thighs
they who are not us, live in an underwater world
you only know when you hold your breath and let go
At ten it was not apparent
though if you consider how much you enjoyed
lying on ladies fur coats and
smelling their perfume
what isn’t known glitters in the gloom
they said poor child, poor motherless urchin
and in their arms you felt
that longing to place a moonstone in a set of gold
translated later the shape and curve
men were all angles and hard
softness is the drift of sand
lapsing back into water
you tried being like everyone else
nobody really wants to wear a red mark
telling them apart
but the hot skin of men as they lay
clumsy and ill-fitting in your hollows
always reminded you of a plug
with two prongs when
three were needed