1996, Domina, poetry

Meanie on Christmas Day

You lie beside me
sleeping,
with your arm over my chest.
I gently turn my head,
kissing you faintly upon the lips
trying not to wake you.
Your eyes slowly open,
Gazing at me through the mist.

Our friends called our apartment
“the House of Books’n’Cactus”
I had cacti everywhere,
in every room of the apartment,
every nook and cranny.
& where there weren’t cacti,
we had books.
Books in the pantry,
books in milk crates
stacked up against the wall;
books rising behind the doors
assembled title out;
books piled upon the desk,
on the couch,
in front of the couch
and the tv,
on the kitchen counter,
and the kitchen table
with a cactus on top.
There were books in the bathroom,
and a pile beside the bed,
on either side.

With the windows wide open,
the radiator heater hissed,
and the Christmas lights flickered,
basking our sweat soaked bodies
in their blinking glory.
Me, pharaoh like,

and you, my queen, on your side,
arm over my chest
and your mouth at my ear,
whispering into it,
such nasty stuff.
I couldn’t help but take my cold feet
and press ‘em against yours.

After the quick intake of air
which echoed through my eardrum,
came the word.
-Meanie.
Then laughter,
so hard
I choke.
Suddenly, we embrace.
Bodies glued together with sweat
mouth to mouth
life to life
wordless
moist
heartbeats
and a moan
which I said,
came up
from the depths of your stomache.
You’ve another idea;
I turn red as you tell me.

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