Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best And I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal Surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries Or cherries, the rich spurt in the back Of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing Give me the lover who yanks open the door Of his house and presses me to the wall In the dim hallway, and keeps me there until Im drenched And shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload And begin their delicious diaspora Through the cities and small towns of my body To hell with the saints, with martyrs Of my childhood meant to instruct me In the power of endurance and faith To hell with the next world and its pallid angels Swooning and sighing like Victorian girls I want this world. I want to walk into The ocean and feel it trying to drag me along Like Im nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass And I want to resist it. I want to go Staggering and flailing my way Through the bars and back rooms Through the gleaming hotels and weedy Lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks Where dogs are let off their leashes In spite of the signs, where they sniff each Other and roll together in the grass, I want to Lie down somewhere and suffer for love until It nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again And put on that little black dress and wait For you, yes you, to come over here And get down on your knees and tell me Just how fucking good I look
want, swooning, pallid, weedy, victorian