For Angelica


Her lips are lush and soft and wet and pink.
My tongue explores until it finds some wires.
At such a moment, everyone enquires
‘My darling, what the fuck?’ ‘Not what you think’

she says, ‘not what it looks like.’ But it’s true
she lies a little just to keep me calm
then takes apart a panel in her arm.
Inside there’s lights and dials. A taser too

so she could paralyze me with a pinch
if she should want to. They’re here to observe.
I should have known from the too-perfect curve
of her arched eyebrow. Every single inch

is engineered to please. And so we screw.
She tells me, that for flesh, I’m quite good too.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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One Response to For Angelica

  1. badger says:

    Very nicely done.

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