Issue Four: Coming October 1
in the dark
yours is the name on the tip of my clit
every night around 1 o’clock
when yellow headlights pass my window
and briefly stain the wall in front of my bed
----
lust poem 1
our relationship
like sonnets in yellow snow
is bittersweetness
----
lust poem 2
full pre-pubescent reckless
my mind shuts steel trap
to the safe arms of abstinence
(is it wrong to want to get me some without worrying,
“where’s the commitment?” who cares when it’s face-flushing,
blood-boiling so rapturous you forget your own name
and want to turn inside out so even your epidermis
can join in the fun lovin’?)
occasional admiration is still satisfying
and the baggage is only carry-on
----
prey
I’ve gone fishing so many times
sitting on the bank for an hour
or two
or three
with nothing biting, occasionally
pulling up an old, moldy black boot
stuffed with kelp and perhaps a dead bullfrog
or catching a puny, sad looking trout
missing one eye
and half a fin
he tries to look appealing
get me all excited
but I throw him back like so many before
now I’m trying a new sport
one with a target
I would aim for the heart
but that’s been done
and seems so cliché
instead, I’ll go for the jugular
they won’t even know what hit them