02: October 2014 #17 - Cities

Authored by Chelsea Fonden #2


by Chelsea Fonden

In the bathtub we fucked like stoned donkeys, slow, warm, yellow. In
so many cities I let them chip at my skin, pieces coming off and I
covered up, pretending to be whole. Hotel sheets turned down,
inviting, hot steam from the shower, a stiff chair in the corner.
Unraveled tights and abandoned stilettos, satin, lace, the thick smell
of lust. There are no features above their collars, neckties, nothing
inside where the head should be. In the mornings I stretch and run,
when I come back I glare and they are slow to find their pants. Do you
feel it they ask and I say yes, yes and when I was young I crashed my
bike into the front gate. For god's sake I don't feel it, I don't want
to hold hands. There was one once who did, a Conservative, a
Contradiction, Church in the morning and at night he fucked me in the
bay window and people watched from way below. But he gave himself to
War when he said he wouldn't leave, and there are so many cities. So
many men coming and going, but I think they are missing the point.