issue 32 > poetry > kuspit

cute and cuddly you're not,
                                   but i'd sleep with your gloom,
your unflinching stare
                              in foreplay with mine,
wonder already weary
                            in your unsmiling eyes,
mine barbed with tired tenderness.
                                              i'm the death embracing
your maidenhood,
                    our marriage of minds
giving birth
                to the rotten wisdom of life.
prematurely ripened
                            by suffering,
aged into the coldness
                              of consciousness,
you're still as unformed
                                as the painting behind you,
a smear of hope
                   in your contented melancholy. 






Also by Donald Kuspit:

Aphrodite