Jo Pearson
Ride A White Swan
Running hot and cold like a clapped out shower
said you were a changed man
would never do
that sort of thing again
become infatuated
by a temptress’ tattooed smile.
So many siren songs
dancing ballet naked knowing
degage, releve
posing for impressionists
living in a water colour world.
Or yoga position
arched cat butt tucked up
purring with each fuck.
I don’t want to know
you can hold your own
mingling in the smoke room
red eyed down the Mucky Duck
the unavailable women
you’ve almost had.
Page(s) 91
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