The Fling

A centrifugal head spin,
A cowering dyspepsia of spiny
Thoughts and dissections
Pitches me forward.
She parts me easily
And plunges in with barbed wire
And bottle cap love.

A hateful lovemaking:
Golden fog perfume and full lips,
Shimmering gold skin appeals,
Then cuts -- bleeds
Long and red down my back.

Flesh grows hard and white around
The blackened blade in my back,
The jagged handle protrudes. Still,
I am unable to remove it.

Agony. Ripping pain,
An arched back,
A howling scowl,

Then black: garters, stockings, raven hair, black-out.

A ravenous appetite for nothing.
This coma is warm,
A fine billowy nothingness.
A sudden blow-out in this
Zero-gravity pressure.

©1989 Chris Abraham