As in real life, in this dream, you have no face.

Because you are no one. Because I forgot all of you, stranger,

but for that tongue. The eyes.


It was a proposition, a mark of sin, just as your lips trace the seam.

During the most mundane of tasks, you undress me.


On a cold field, we lay together.

Beneath a summer-is-coming sky,

in springtime.

Disrobed- we are completely exposed.


You are yellow-skinned beneath the sun, and I am monstrously pale.

My skin begs to be darkened by your shadow. My skin begs to be bruised beneath your body.


And I hoped for a sign.

Which was foolish, of me.

A sign, a sign, a bolt of lightening would do.

That would be my cue to lean in and kiss your cruel lips.

Well, we were naked already.


Yes, in this dream we lay in meadow-grass, with the world blind to us.

The most depraved things could happen.


And, I feed you strawberries.

And, your teeth sink into them.

And, your tongue thrusts inside them.

And, you hold my gaze, viciously.


And, beneath you I am begging, screaming, yielding.

And, you are cruel and warm and powerful.

And now I reminisce this dream, and you?

Politely smiling.


That treacherous tongue licks your lips. They are dry.

You wish me a good day; pass me my cigarette, freshly-rolled.


I feel the burn in my throat, and long for you.

I tried to format it. Several times. Sigh.

This is about a man, who rolls cigarettes for me at the bus-stop. I have an obsessive personality? I'm somewhat depraved? Anyway, whenever he traces his tongue along the paper, he always looks at me.

And when he does, all I can think of is poetry and porn.

So this is a mixture of the two... Review?