Skin Poem

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!