by Brian McCloskey
Later he’ll discover what I’ve written on my skin. What was he applauding? I stand firm in my sequins and tights. If you’ve never been fondled through silk, you’ve never been fondled. We’re on a swing, with our white tights. The other thing kangaroos are good at is making milk. Save the time by lying on my chest. My mountain grew as tall as I wanted it to. I can’t dance anymore. Three pieces of the self – night after night – shaken in the silver. I miss your body, I miss your perfect breasts. They are useful, more than they are beautiful. Just reaching my hand up my skirt to adjust my tights. I thought I saw a face. He is more interested in your underwear than you are. Womans must be cooled. Nobody else remembers, but I remember. You look like a Malaysian transsexual. We are both silent about the same thing. Surely it would be an enchanted domain where tights never run. Go to your fancy fire. I can’t seem to find you in the dictionary. Hey Jesus, don’t forget the Ovaltine! He would rather see you in your underwear than naked. Why on earth would want adult tickle another adult? Hosiery should not be this complicated, surely? I have stolen songs from God. My breast is pleasant and fresh. Have you seen the price of penguins? I smell a kidnapping.