Cassandra

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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