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Important Work To Pretend To #2

Posted on 13/07/202018/07/2020 by Dean English

caution : erotic content

.

I shouldn’t drive
I shouldn’t even look 
toward the van
across the fcuk it’s warm 

in here, and nothing 
matters much
more 
than c’mon, man

and there I am
fleeing from 
the vast consumptive 
emptiness.

freed from what a mirror 
must 
like stars and like the 
heart-beat

arriving in her room
curmudgeon in my hand
her flatmate’s cool
with nowhere else to roam.

.

you’ll be their thermometer
their personal barometer
free to take internal 
measurement, to establish 

confirmation, diagnosis of 
the Emptiness, and erect,
against the gravity,
a charge pole

to lighten all
connected to, as keys go
click in zero time 
a giggle and a shhh

a warm suggestive push
they both take off their 
tops and kneel, the 
plumbing coughs

the walk sign, the bus 
stops opposite the bedsit.
never hid my i.p.
never thought

things through that
thoroughly. the windows shine 
a tiny smell of feet 
with hot, unpainted toes 

extracted from their pink 
rimmed ankle socks. 
the great black
empty space

they celebrate 
the consummation 
of ourselves.
attacked

around the compass
in stealth and with 
invisibility.
the simple As

your thumb print
genescent
the gag she
does

balls deep
the soft back 
throat palette 
camping air

in nostrils
in a learnt ability 
utterly undoable 
on some models

kneeling face to face
they hold each others breasts
you slide you clock between
their two, four lips

the pendulum nuts
off, drawing out 
seconds, hours tick
tick ticking into decades, 

pass the salt 
of Ignorance
the limes, crush
the nothingness
they want it raw
undiluted, so
you make a little
up, to describe it

after brunch
and mouthwash
how the tight five,
as they packed down

front row
knitting
like a
zipper.

.

catapult and
sledgehammer
linear integrity
of atomic spin,

that we
do not go through
the door
before the feet have

walked us to it.
you’ve eaten the roach,
lit the smoke,
both are on their back

rubbing their crotch
for story time
as you tell them
about the heat

-thickened cocks
balls low hanging in suds
in the overhead showers,
like blood, dye, paint stain

leg mud, washing down
into the grated drains
hairy and waxed, buttocks
and backs, front body

hungers and love
the soapy
sandalwood steam
scuffs and jandals

ankles Auckland-narrow
Curlew Bay to Mangere
across-shoulder acreage
the country looseness

of labial skin space
behind the ball sacks.
pine scent,
supple knuckles

of spine back, pencil
rubber nipples
in hair, helmets
& hats, long necks

tilted to the shower
heads, fart smell,
towel flick. you introduce
the girls through

the locker room
as the items promised
by the coaching team
to the team-mates could

allow their solid mingle.
they remain beneath the
shower heads, victoriously
abled, as the players’ valued

marriage more looked on
semi hard esteem, mates
from beyond the showers
leaving six naked rugby players

to welcome
them with all each
one
desires.

.

shouldn’t drive, should
not prepare a line
waiting at the red light
but there I am, alight

and canopy
to the cover-up
unspeakable abyss
made bold

by first successes.
three a night,
in some cases,
some misses, some

were guesses, wore glasses,
churched in home-made dresses,
couldn’t function unwanted;
loved, but haunted

spread as were their dresses
across the sturdy framework
of the pelvis, their perfumed
buttholes, ankles, over a metre

apart, leather straps replaced
with bungie cords and velcro.
I shouldn’t suck the melt-o,
tongue the curtains open,

light this vast, consuming
enterprise, this follow-thru
this solid, thick o’ the bone
man, his stubby shunter,

his stamina, discretion,
animation, is inventive,
good natured, insightful,
practicing a thing called

ONS: the oldest wasn’t
26 and barefoot
anymore. back on, however;
One-off Novelty

Sex, sweetheart,
stewart, bowie,
rollers, melodies
of abba, still

remembers donna,
summers and
summers
ago.

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