I think of Paris

And Left Bank wanderings and

Henry and June

And cocks on legs drinking my youth

In every whorehouse wasting my semen on

Foreign language and women who don’t

Want tomorrow


Fitzroy yesterday:


Winter rain pelted on the old roof

On a night ready to be fucked


A woman I knew- Cassandra


Beautiful, desirous Cassandra

Her hair smelled of lilac from Vassette’s

Her body milky white mother

Her skin tasted hot musk in my mouth


She a Modigliani desire


I on the other hand a grizzly

Soup kitchen man

My face laden with battles

Lost and won


Still we were friends

Our house

On Hanover street

Her room smelled of Balinese cigarettes and jasmine

On a hook hung her Japanese silk gown


That night-

An invitation to her bed


To sleep or to fuck it didn’t matter


We were both lonely, lonely

As the cold city street below


I nuzzled up against her


It would have been so easy to take advantage

Two drunks hungry for sex


I felt strange


She pushed her fleshy arse

Pressing hard against me


Hard against hard


A sigh or was that a gasp

Before we fell asleep?

One thought on “Cassandra

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