A Canvas for Basquiat

[miyako73]

My Summer dress slips off by itself
From oil and sweat, my lubricants,
Your burnt opium, your syringed heroin;
You tear and pull my spandex bra,
Its hugging rubber, its metal snaps
Weak to your wet fingers and impatience;
I take off what is left that covers
My groin, my soul, my resistance,
Feeble and willing to your eyes and wishes.

From the swaying ends of my hair
To the sharp edges of my toenails,
I am bare on your drips and drying stains;
My soles, my palms are as white
As the pearl you dig in my depth
And as empty as the newly-painted wall;
My olive skin, smooth and primed
With nicotine and varnish fumes,
Welcomes your dizzy swirls and brushing.

The laid canvas is ready for your graffiti.

[miyako73]

This is a poem of two poems. The second one:

Your burnt opium, your syringed heroin
Weak to your wet fingers and impatience
Feeble and willing to your eyes and wishes,
I am bare on your drips and drying stains
and as empty as the newly-painted wall--
Welcomes, dizzy swirls, and your brushing.

The laid canvas is ready for your graffiti.

[Jack of Hearts]

There's some really great stuff in there. This poem, at parts, is believably sexy. That's hard to accomplish. This reader would mostly encourage you to contemplate doing two things: not talk about toenails and drop the last line.





J

[miyako73]

Thanks, Jack. It's tough to write about something ugly (drugs) beautifully (arts).