Eeek Love
Eeek Love: Art and Poetry
I turn from Sissy things,
from laps that sit serene,
I want your tough, pendulous
breasts, your churning belly,
I want your wolfish howl!
Out of sync with softness,
I want harsh syllables,
spit-out gutterals,
gut-grabbing sound,
I want to stand between
your hefty thighs, Mother,
juicy as a ripe pomegranate,
plump with seed, drunk
with my own fermenting smell.
I am no longer nice.
Mary Bast, Eeek Love