Safeword
Harry and Kate went to masturbate,
loving the vibration of love,
a slow, slinky ooziness.
A sausage, a hole and Vinted.
Breathe in, said Kate, exhale the fire of living.
The bag was bulging.
We need to establish a safeword, said Harry
I’m thinking of a line, said Kate, but it’s not happening,
the only thing that comes to mind is a thousand fucking doves.
Harry suggested: I love Ian Beale…?
Chocolate coins? said Kate Time is a construct!
Dare you! Dare you! Double dare you?
The naughty little mouse nibbled my member, said Harry
Well, your compliment wasn’t good enough, said Kate,
asking to see my anus on Instagram is not a love poem.
An ode for a misplaced hip flask? said Harry.
I hate loving you, you love hating me, said Harry,
and the postage was paid in Northern Ireland.
Days are unequal in the struggles of the dead, said Kate
What is stopping ants from taking over the world? Democracy?
I hope this line is read out of context
like Leda, like Persephone, like women, women, women.
On this pirate ship poetry pandemonium,
we’re all just twatting around in the glitter.
