Death & the Mechanical Orgasm

Hers was the untasted cup until he told her

that he wanted to paint music,

plus other word-woven whimsies.

All so much bullshit to us who know the day

of his departure and the long after

date of her death.

But his lisping did then get her naked as

a new grave, limitless life still before her;

and with the nuzzling delicacy

of a roe deer

his lapping brought her

to her very first convulsing orgasm.

apathy_big

A narcissistic revelation:

of course she wanted more.

With occasional spider-touch

vibrator interludes (more of a sympathetic quiver,

minus the pelvic bone-bump of a man-attached

phallus) she did nonetheless continue to seek men

to be tongue-taught her needs.

 

So did she shout-by-sigh become,

this one-time debutante

of the bedchamber, Lady Quim.

Man still following man

she was celebrated,

come her gasping demise,

the grandest of les grande morte,

and still is today

only for whom she was bedded by.

 

by Sam Smith                        |                Artwork by Kira Leigh       | 

Featured Image by Alexandra Pelletier

 

Toronto, see you this Saturday at unwanted!

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Sam Smith

<p>various day-jobs as befits a struggling novelist.<br /> Major influences are Henry Miller, C S Forrester, John Steinbeck, Philip K Dick, Kurt Vonnegut, Alejio Carpentier, T S Eliot, W H Auden, R S Thomas, Ted Hughes, Jack Kerouac, Leonard Cohen, John Clare, Walt Whitman, Lorca, Cavafy, Basho, Issa, William Carlos Williams, and so on and so on and so on&#8230;&#8230;.</p>