Two Poems – Kristin Garth

Clue Do Me


A body in your billiard room, on felt 

verdant with noms de plume. In scarlet 

fishnets around a colonel’s thighs, I’m svelte, 

a secret passage alibi.  Wet 

for professor, the ripest plum, in rope

a peacock will succumb. Ballroom 

revolver, dirty ride.  Lead pipe, my hope,

for candlestick inside.  In lounge, consume

your dagger long, on parquet, knees — no place,

equipment wrong.  In uniform of black 

and white, conservatory wench debased

by candlelight, your game with sipped cognac.

A murdered vagina no mystery — 

in Tudor mansion, will you clue do me?




Mermaid kneesocks, tiara, star, space buns, 
sea green, a beat-up car.  A soy latte 
with extra foam that clouds black lips, pink tongue
that roams.  Faux shy eye contact, Saturday boy, 
peek above Lolita, paperback
a ploy.  Friday, her play, Story of O, 
a cappuccino, buzz cut, blow job snack 
to go.  A siren, jade nails, stiletto,
around a stranger’s wrists, he won’t say no. 
Her nose in Sexus, ass in air, backseat 
broad daylight, parking lot affair. Fellows
follow, flavor today: dark, creamy, sweet?
Her craving’s cock with a chaser, caffeine,
disposable liaisons, lust forest green.