waiting

I was waiting for a man who came

and softly caressed my neck,

but I stayed home with a string of dishes

and murdered hairs and flowers hanging from it,

waiting for him to appear and bring me pleasure home

just like an express love-delivery service.



The radio went on: "It's raining men,

Hallelujah!"

so I took my head out of the window,

staring at the mocking sun,

looking upwards, in hope and expectation, to the clouds.



But love doesn't come home just like a pizza,

and the radio is never right.

So, there I stayed, here am I,

with my soft neck coming to creases,

getting old untouched: dead skin calling

for a hand to come,

a hand just created to please me.



And my skin is crumbling,

and silence embraces my neck like a serpent,

strangling my wishes in order to eat.




(alligator, alligator,

running down my spine)