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Please note that this content is sexually explicit. We recommend that you should not read this content if you are offended by sexually explicit material.


It’s 3 am
a jerk, she’s awake
rain rattles the gal tin
she’s wet
her hand in her cunt
fingering herself
her moist fleshy
dreams awake
she’s transported to
another reality in
summer night’s hot horn
the danger of the laneway
the excited fevered ripping
off his shirt
as she slams him into a brick wall
hair bristling-alive
she grabs at his chest
her red hunger lips
she sucks, plays his raised nipples
her tongue probing, licking
razor teeth bit as he
and hardens, nuzzling and nudging her
this torture, exquisite
daybreak finds him sleeping with her fishnets
later in the wake of day
she remembers his empty
still in her bedroom drawer
au revoir, mon ami.



She’s old now
beyond love and lust, perhaps!
in love’s ghost house
she with her cumin spiced
abalone plump thighs
amid a hot white sauce wetness.
had become a meal to be eaten
slowly, every mouthful savoured,
inviting you further into the heart
a warm, comfortable lover.
Are you surprised to hear this?
secretive sighs, silent crying in
longing’s indifferent time
the ache for touch!
no need for love at this stage
touch, human touch, that’s enough these days
what of the old woman’s desire!
she is not an atrophied permafrost
are there to be no more lovers’ in the ghost house
of these once supple well fingered vaults?
This is not a riddle to be solved
simply the unheard voice of growing old
and please there’s no place for smirking
or backhanded whispers
it is what it is.

© Valli Poole 2014

Valli Poole is a published Australian poet with a number of chapbooks to her name including, A box Of Hummingbirds and Aeons She also is the founder of a small press outfit, Blank Rune Press. Her latest ‘lassbook’ Bog Boys & Unquiet Graves will be published in July 2014.

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