You Are Almost Always With Someone Else – Jacob Madkour

blessed be the sophisticate professor he’s elderly and telling the class of mostly young broads how prostitution is the most honest form of love and blessed be they are all rosy-cheek-flattered at his description of the exchange and it’s all to do with all their dreams in which they are all wives of husbands that are him or alike all wiry wearing tweed out late at the library they’re pulling up blackshear tights at home over warm slender legs having fucked a man more worth fucking and it’s all to do with all of everyone’s dreams all dreams dreams of being more worth fucking

and after pulling em up she may have you gone in time for a real lover’s arrival but at least you were warm warm a moment and the skin the skin warm too and the light the light warm and one reels all limp and gives oneself wholly like unto a vice in such light not caring to discover that you are not the skin your hand grazes becomes but one discovers it rather it discovers discovers you cruelly but you’re already gone already gone down the steps from the loft and you’re skipping 3 steps at a time pulling your jacket flaps together busted out the sunglasses stepping out into the dark and I’m thugging it out won’t raise the flag not yet not the time and something protrudes in the gut and is sick with hatred and you love to be sick and shimmering showering in void and I am black butterfly I am haughty demon the underground man I’m travis fucking bickle cleaning the cum and blood from my taxi seat face taking the tattered rag to my taxi seat’s last mind

and in line I am shoulder to shoulder with toy soldier brethren forward edge of battle beckoned forth by the bugle blows toward the sweeping soft hand of Mary she could gather all in one handful lifts only one from above by helmethead to god knows where and off to some garden of milk-skinned nymphs there where what else but the softness makes one wish to disappear much else much else makes one wish is there much else and have you disappeared bishoped blight on sunlight it seems I am in your midst and one must live softly abreast the supple bloat of thigh spilled over the top ridge of your stocking’s upper ends from which flesh soft and red curves over the rump and ends in the divots of the lower back’s both sides by which I take you and take myself into you over and over

I know you’re my professor’s wife but i’ll be gone again I promise please call back doll