by Chioma Okereke

we dance with words
sometimes i own them
and sometimes 
you coin the phrases
massage them on your tongue
and roll them around your mouth
like "r's"-
longing to be stroked 
by French accents
   and - i inhale them
swaying to sambas 
submerged in our subtexts
of sex 
on the world wide web
  under the pretext
that this is-  the next
best thing
to being with you
 but a tango
takes two and i can't 
this dance alone...
spinning me
    spinning tales
on the internet
is not enough
to get me whet
and speaking your name 
in tongues
I want to see your face
  When you cum
      + in this age
of cyber-sex
it shouldn't feel wrong
but  it   does
I need to smell
Your body
On my skin
swallow your gentle whispering
So rabid, only canines 
Know what we are doing-
That ol' fashioned type of lovin'
To feel your sweat 
On my fingertips
Drain the nectar from your lips
This is what I miss/ I miss this
I can't get  intimate
With a computer screen
I feel like 
Some Hollywood B movie scene
A 'you've got mail'
When what I want is a man
Who lives in a/my time zone
Where I can hold his hand
Instead of his attention..
   But    I'm afraid to mention this
Instead blow haiku kisses
Thru' cyberspace
Waltz to the words that replace 
Your touch
I watch       empty 
Waiting for you to strum keyboards
That strike key chords 
   on my  heartstrings
My eyes sting
From watching this machine blink
And I can't think 'bout anything
'cept black bodies swingin'
 in the southern breeze- 
not the kind distended 
from Billie's poplar trees 
   but  our bodies bumping 
in search of release
like Jason after his golden fleece
You're still pulling the wool 
Over my eyes 
Medea lulled fire- breathing 
Dragons to bedtime lullabies
To secure her prize
And I play mind games 
to keep you hypnotised
Invent hieroglyphics so
You read between my/the lines
Add horny smiley faces
To make you fantasise -
But this kind of intimacy 
is a lie -
      I hide my loneliness
Behind poems that I 
Did not/ cannot write
Fall asleep re-reading 
Your messages 
    to slake my appetite
and maybe it's not right
but it's all that I've got
and perhaps we shouldn't 
keep pretending 
to be something that we're
but were dancing still 
    your absence has left a void
that email/this has to fill
I'll save you salsas
And borrow 
Alanis' jagged little pill

I'll write the words that burn the page

Slake by Chioma Okereke

© Copyright 1999. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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