Mary X Poems
Comments about Mary X
There are times when you simply
cannot do anything.
You lay there in Medusa’s
ugly vision, sat in granite
with nothing apart from
the breast you are touching.
It isn’t even a breast,
just a pocket of air
that your mind urges you to think is
a beautifully sculpted woman.
That doesn’t matter though,
we find our pleasures
whether it be a candle’s tone
a man’s fingering hand
or the piece of gentle anatomy
that you have held in your pocket.
We wish with our placid eyes.
We gaze to the starry-sky to gain
attributes to new bells of freedom.
The rain isn’t going to stop falling.
As much as you can say the sun hurt me
I know it didn’t. It was quiet reverie
that burnt my woods and tickled
my soul, until the day ended,