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Marionette

sometimes she'll peer at you through a poet's frames
and watch you, trying to tell you she's upset then she
says something that makes your convoluted mind pleased
proves she knows exactly where to touch you, baby.

sometimes she's shaking, trembling tremor
you can really feel her quake and turn (without the touch)
how it unnerves you your serene world
disrupted, sonic laughter fit to deafen
you wonder the world needs to give me
a shrink.

sometimes she's a triple-breasted whore
two right where they should be,
and the other protuberant between her
olive-tasting lips tart and hard and fit for
you to keep swallowing it's like you're reversing roles
it's like taking yourself in the mouth.

sometimes she does cross her legs coyly waiting
for your reply as she looks at your sculpted kissing jawline
and it makes me look too 'cause i can't
help knowing she wants you to taste her emerging
between a kiss we've never had because
she'll really blow you away if she
had the chance but you always blew it.

sometimes she tweaks my strings to make
me just a little more morbidly ingenuous than usual
it bites me like mosquitoes in spring: i know she's beautiful
with her sordidly real flesh and crookedly
pretty eyes but i can't help wondering if
she's controlling and denying me you or
the other way around.

sometimes she sits me down to watch a new film
she's produced starring you and me but i'm
the only one at each grand premiere and
all i do is know where to fuck you with words and bondage
and you're instantly mine but it really isn't
that easy and she knows it too in spite
of all this, doesn't she?

(i'd be lying though if i said i didn't love her.)