A Man By Emma Z. Poem by RIC BASTASA

this is a picture of you
my man, on white brief,
masculine body, strong,
firm arms, gentle eyes
determined eyelashes,
bold fingers, drinking
a hot cup of coffee,
well cut hair, shaven face,
smooth skin, hair on the
slab of his skin, firm legs
easy on the floor, calm nipples,
peaceful on the sofa,
waiting for me.

yet i still ask for more

when he steps out of my door
i may cry a little bit
three or four tears are enough
for a decent parting
a little time for mourning
a pint of vodka to shake him off from my system

tonight, i'll make a call
another man enters my door
into my womb, my system filled with his spurts
i stoop, i kneel, i worship this man
i lick every dropp of him
and then he goes again
at dawn, fitting in his black underwear
back to his pants and polo
sliding his belt
buttoning his pants
zip his pocket

yet i ask still for more
to fill this emptiness of my being

they are all men that step in and out of my door
hinges still strong and intact
i am suspended so well between the space and the frame

i am a woman. They are just men.
I swallow and spit them all.
i vomit and swallow them all again.
this is the cycle of my
skepticism.