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Peter Redgrove

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Big Little Girl

Prefers a man in his thirties,
Persuades him to grow
An unsuitable moustache,
Then leaves him.

Comes out and kicks shins;
Likes to subdue people
By surprising them
And then loving them.

She searches out ritual richly spread;

Can apply her orgasm to rain
Fucking under it gracefully,
Or to mud, hoggishly
Spreading it to the four corners
Wall to wall of the sty;

To thunder
Whose words she copies
Having rouged her lips black
Over the lightning of her teeth;

To certain rooms and vaults
That copy her insides,
A church with sex across the altar -
Making her crossing
Among the candles -
That light of all-at-once;

She does not care to cruise,
Adventure voyages to her;

It may be that the men
Deny her power

Then she shows it, wet.
She seizes her collar,

Glides it open, plunging
Down to her cunt which shines
With uncommon water, interior
Rainfall, inwet of wide-on.

(With the right partner capable
Of profound content,
Reserving all the while
All rights in her games and mysteries.)

 

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