If I don’t see you
tonight I might die
on Old Street, on New
Change
at the old dyke bar
in Centrepoint
or knee-deep in the
marshes
shivering in the
lidos the ponds
high on the heath or
banging my head
off the brutal
concrete at Southbank.
I wanna be your Mayakovsky
Bolshevik beatbox coming
drumming at your
chest your
dick made of stars
pulls me in a
strapon galaxy we
rotate around
on the DL on the
underground
at the stadia the
palaces we see
across a city filled
with tourists
whose cash lights up
the night
in which we dream
with the window
wide & flies in
to suckle
at our blood sweet
& salt from
the ferric cup from
which
we sip & come day
we sit
to scratch & seep
from each bite
& like an open
window
I’ve kept myself ajar
tonight
& like a wound
that keeps refilling
I got buckets of love
for you so come over.
Posts
3 comments:
Hello Sophie, I met your work trough jacket 2 and came
here. Curious and almost - almost - collapsed. I simply loved your poems. The funny thing is that just today I reread Mayakovsky by Frank O'Hara. So with the best (and only) intentions, I translated your poem - this poem - to portuguese. Yes, I forgot to mention I'm brazilian. A kiss & my best wishes, Rubens.
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