Johanna Aitchison
the air was freaky with champagne
We popped shivers, ate sighs,
rubbed frantically against lampposts.
The lampposts filled my midnight
mind with knuckle bones, knuckle
bones on ash carpet. My blue jeans
shivered with white rabbits.
The lilt of your collarbones was more
than I could sink in one slow gasp.
When you refused, I peeled off
my breasts, taped them to your shoes.
When you tried to walk away, I slashed
your Achilles tendon with my stone adze.
This is modern, darling.
There is no argument against the ancient.
