Were I To Write What She Will Read

The paper folded in such a way
That would make one blush
Or kiss your wet
Wet your red blush
The note, were it a bird,
In your hands
Would be like a wedding
Flower
Purring in your wet
Your hands
Wet from the garden
And roses
Your slightness
In that dress
Or the late nineteen
Thirties
And I’ll play a record
On my new
Country styled gramophone
Let’s dance with folds
Of paper for blinds
And curtains made
Of mustard colored
Sapphires, rubies
In the sky of diamonds
And please, pleasure,
Please kiss me in my
Dreams, wet,
Dream like paper in static violence
Against the love
In your garden
I kiss your
I’ll kiss your
Sweet
Let’s dance to the typewriter
Your shoulder blades
In the candle and light
Is like a note
Read till read
Then red
And love all day
Like so many fancy
Dinner parties
With my eyes closed
Lips to paper
And then
“In my dreams
I kiss your
Cunt.”









“In my dreams I kiss your cunt, your sweet wet cunt. In my thoughts I make love to you all day long.”

-From Atonement, by Ian McEwan