What will you sketch on my skin when
I am dead, I asked her? She said, cheerfully –
On your brow I will draw a dry well. On your
cheeks twin horns of a sterile bull. On your nose
an abandoned chimney. Around your mouth, ha ha,
an anus red with lipstick. Around your neck a fiber green
snake swallowing its own tail.
Go on go on, I entreated her, now aroused. She said –
around your nipples I will draw a bow and arrow, around
your navel a snail, on your penis, she went on holding it gingerly, a
rusted cannon, on your eggs, she squeezed them gently, two empty shells,
your thighs will feature an excavator and a mine shaft, knees
two wrecking balls, on your feet I will draw a shovel
and an axe. I came by then. I always do.
My back, my back, I pleaded, she said- turn over. I did.
She laughed and said, spanking me, on your bum I will design
two nuclear power plants. My back, my back, I cried
again. She said – I will rip off your skin and
write on it this poem, Damn You!
