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She Must Be Mad: the bestselling poetry debut of 2018
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Banshee screams and hollow slaps
Perfect nudity and waxed arse cracks
Half taken by the throng of flung-off thongs
I’m bemused and sad and thinking
Why do they never show the naps?
The intimate legs twined like spaghetti
Cooked and thrown back in the pack
Stuck with starchy love
That’s the real magic, that
That’s what turns me on
When after all the sheets have seen
Where you lay and nose touches nose
And you still know where to kiss
With the lights still off
Because you’re lit up in a childlike beam
And through panting pause your mind wanders lost
Feeling your skin cling innate to one another
Like a baby to a breast
That first breath
When you exhale and simmer,
Two maudlin corpses
Too hot and they still shiver
Craving more whilst digesting a slither
Of moments ago
She moans
As he throws
Her body
Wanting it with a posture comfy
He runs his fingers through her hair
And tells her that she’s lovely
Beautiful in fact
He grabs her by the waist
As she holds his face
And steadies gaze
Whispers lightly in his ear
I’d rather make love to you
Than just simply let you fuck me
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