Non-Goddess-A. Poem by Alistair Plint

As real
as the abstract
Maybelline, pouring down
your mimed face
dripping -
drip
after
drip

As deep
as the dark
grim-lecherous-lip-service
full yet scornful

Wide as the cavity left
where your
emotion & blood Pump
once resided

As intoxicating as your
bound
reserved
sheer nylon
restraints
united-tightly
around your
Cameo
legs
suspended
hogtied
and hooked
to your
hips

I curse you
for your
sensuality
I detest
your
sexuality
I disregard your
desperation
and I lounge here
assessing
your sexiest moment
was the time you
transformed
yourself
into a
wreck

And you enjoyed it
As, did I

I stare
at your
naked
temple
and ask myself
what on earth
I am
doing here
again?

Of course
I am male.
(A prejudicial excuse I know)
Oh Rubbish -

I am just me


[.]