Red Space - Poem by Chloe Meakin

How naked am I?
I can’t ask you this, but,
how good am I?

Am I cute, wide-eyed and schoolgirl?
Or am I bad and leather-clad?
Am I satin? Soulful, saucy, lacy, begging you to take me?
How exactly do you picture me?
What exactly would you do to me?

Would you fall to your knees and worship me
diligently, resourceful leader mother me?
Or would you burst upon me, ruthless you,
and pin me, rip me, rape me, take me?
Poor cold me, humiliated, hurt-need-comfort me.
How much that thrills me... secretly.

And what exactly would I do to you?
My red blood red for you, my fearless you,
French resistance you, smelling darkly of your cigarettes
and the sweat trapped in your workman’s chest.
Running, panting, manly you.
Torn-shirted father farmer soldier you.
Together in the pouring rain, upon your lips, your hard red kiss.

Every day we meet, our eyes never meeting.
Flushed, quiet, knowing we are heavy with it,
red space surging, right between us.

Devotion, tension.
Quiet eyes, held eyes, making eyes, rueful.
Rueful smile, slow smile, dimpled smile, knowing.
Teasing. All day. Please go away.
You always make this such a long day.