Instead of Cataloging I was Daydreaming About What We Did Two Weeks Ago

Looking over to the library storage closet door,
As the Viagra clock ticks,
I imagine how it was;
I am on the floor,
You kicking me hard across the slick tiles.
(Robert is so floor-proud, like a pervie housewife,
Never dreaming the librarian was sprawled across the polished linoleum like a sack)
Your boot against my groin,
I grunt trying to get away,
Your arms swing in your borrowed uniform jacket,
Swinging in, marching in, beating me,
You are tall for once,
With me a pile of cunt and “fuck me” at your feet,
Face down,
Waiting to be slammed, sliding sideways half-way across the room,
I never knew how much being kicked would hurt,
Each time your boot connects with my flesh I feel bruises blooming,
My thighs are a garden, my belly the well,
You water me and bring me to flower.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s