Two Poems – Kristin Garth
October 23, 2018
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.