393 – An Empty Vessel

Poem number 393
An Empty Vessel
Oh no. Not you again, I think. Please, not you again.
My heart slows in panic as I sense your hips
Gliding across the floor towards me.
Your face is sublime. Angels would kill puppies for your lips
So full, so ripe that to kiss them would be a never-ending dream.
Your figure is vavavoom. A man could never cope with so many curves
And yet stay completely sane. The clinging silk of your dress.
Leaves everything to my imagination
And my throat goes dry. The complete package, you are more or less
Woman. With a capital W. God bless those capital letters.
But then, ah then. Then you arrive and those lips part
In that breathy, affected manner that you stole, shamelessly, from Marilyn Monroe
And I remember that you annoy the shit out of me.
Too aware of your own allure, so affected, so false. So confident in your inner glow
That you assume victory before the game has even begun.
Those perfect eyes, so artfully framed
Conceal the acres of empty space between your dainty, sculpted ears
And your hair. That dark, sensuous wave of pure invitation
Is nothing more than a tea-cosy on an empty pot. Your tears,
So deliberate, so feigned are strangely unmoving despite their crystalline fragility.
I dream, sometimes, of holding you close
As we jump, feet first into the spout of the nearest tornado
And head for Oz. We’d walk through the Munchkins and monkeys,
Strolling, hand in hand beneath broom-written skies to the little man who sits below
The Emerald City. And there I would ask him, beg him, to give you a brain.
Oh, if you only had a brain then one look in your eye
Would tell me why the ocean meets the shore
We would sink into a sofa, close the door
Pour a drink, and talk some more
We would while away the hours
(Between our torrid showers)
Just discussing Acid Rain
You are beautiful and pretty
And you wouldnt be so shitty
If you only had a brain
But you don’t. You are shallow, vapid, vacant and full of nothing
But an awareness of your own magnetic sex appeal
A doll with moving parts but no clockwork –
No complexity. A libido run on instinct and adrenalin. You feel
But you don’t think.

Oh, if you only had a brain. If you were more than just that face. That figure.
If you could add two to two and make four. If you only had a brain – even a small one would do –
Then I could give in.
I could fall, naked and headlong into the inferno of passion that you
And your body demand. But you do not. I cannot.
But oh, if you only had a brain.


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