by jeanne rené
Monsieur Feuille de Papier
you gawk at me
aloof and empty
blank
you mock my passion
these eyes prisoner
to your harsh and penetrating countenance
it sends chills
down my elastic spine
and i grovel
sup on the terror of your dismissal
my lucid sight grown transfixed at the hint
my red blood boiling
at the suggestion of making love to you
My Monsieur Feuille de Papier
i cannot exist without this making love to you
my lips to your pale face
give a barrage of manic kisses
writhe as i move you to my tango
my rhamba
my minuet of eloquence
of time
of place
of empathy
of the disgraced
Mon Monsieur dance
and laugh and drink this contemptible wine
i dare to spill
how you anger me
so fickle your affections
how you torture me
walking out
walking in
hours to days
when you abandon me
shriveled in some despairing universe
soused with only my disheveled name
then again
to return bounding into my quarters
just to kick my protruding stomach
i grow weak
mais ce soir
ce soir
une page blanche . . . blanche
your face offers no clue
come
i beg, Mon Monsieur
come
dine on my fever
fulfill my rapture
prepare for me
a warm bath tapped with words dripping
from my severed vein
jeanne rené 11/04
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