Odd...

I was very pleased with the turn out of the open-mic-night-what-have-you. Unfortunately, there seemed to be an overabundance of poetry and song as opposed to fiction there. I suppose this cannot be helped in certain circumstances, five minutes of reading is far far more generous to the medium of poetry than it is to fiction or memoir.

However, I did find myself inspired and wrote these partially during the readings and immediately upon my return.

I don't usually write poetry, so Joe and Liz, consider this an homage.

Class / Order

You are not a spider.
But a scorpion.
No wool to your tongue
Iron.
Cold, like blood
In its aftertaste.

Your voice is a mediocre punk ballad
Its hook in my throat.
Crawls into my stomach,
Dripping playful vitriol,
And rejoices in the burn.
Shrieking pink ecstasy
As it is consumed.

You are not a spider.
No passionless goddess,
Nestled in an alien web.
You are intimate,
Sting and watch
With glossy eyes.
Warm, like blood
In their crystal surface.

Your pincers click
The safety pins in your dress
Crush against my kitchen counter.
I search for your sting
My knee between your thighs
Pressing upwards, I hear you gasp
And rejoice in the shiver.
Shrieking blue ecstasy,
We fall to the tile.

You are not a spider,
No hungry lust
Or raw, consuming gaze.
Your movements are measured
Crawl upon me and perch
Lips on mine
Welcome, like blood
Trickling over my tongue.

Your favorite color is amber
This makes me smile.
Push my fingers through your hair
And arch your back
Spine cracking
Fragile thorax
And rejoice in the sound,
Shrieking yellow ecstasy
Envelope me and breathe.

Cohort / Superorder

You are not an octopus,
But a squid.
Nails like black glass
Tracing hooking spirals
Delicate in their curves
On the flesh of my back.

You rush me and embrace.
Ensconced,
You stretch
Not enough.
You still must gaze up
Lost in hazed vision,
Swimming in our touch,
The sea’s salt blackness.

You are not an octopus,
Your movements calculated,
And precise.
No, you are a flurry
Eyes wild, dancing,
Fierce in their curves
Consuming all beauty.

Flitting in and out
Light into shadow.
All sinew and passion,
Lithe, coiled
Found in stark relief,
Dancing through our light,
Bioluminescent.

You are not an octopus,
No cold killer,
Your arm along my back
And leg along my hip
Absent of veiled intent
Only want
Fragile in their curves
Your jeans against mine.

All pinks and purples,
Teeth like a beak on my neck
Polished ivory fingers
In fumbling swiftness of touch
Home in their brevity,
Gliding in this darkness
Allowing me this solace.