JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

I’m half empty down to just below my waist line

waiting, still, thick and viscous

sticky with spreading salty memories.

I long for you to dip into me, slowly, little

by little, not too much to spoil the flavour.

 

But you wait, take your time, your fingers

poised over some international scandal,

the soccer game, your eyes probing the ink

of an underwear advertisement as if you could

peel it off the page.

 

Don’t think I’m jealous, you marmalade lover,

I know your every move, Mondays and Wednesdays

scrambled, Fridays hard boiled. Today is Sunday,

my day, we’ve been doing it this way for years

so why keep me waiting, my mouth open watching you?

 

Sunlight streams through the window into me,

I’m melting! Look my way. Lick your lips just a

little with the tip of your tongue like you always do.

 

Please. I request, gathering my self respect for

the last time before I withdraw back into that

cold dark place where all passion forgets itself.

Look at me now.

 

I knew you would, you old devil.