ALEXIS RHONE FANCHER
The Famous Poet Sexts Me
While His Wife’s Asleep
Bad boy poets
thirst for love, too.
He pretends it’s a joke, but it’s not.
When he needs quenching, he turns to me.
As always, he lies on his side of the bed, pajamas
unbuttoned, hunched over the phone so wifey can’t see the glow.
She’d hate to see him happy,
hard cock straining against his fly.
What are you
wearing?
I’m not. I fire off a selfie; I can almost hear him moan.
You light me up.
I tell myself not everyone’s a famous poet’s muse.
Even if that bad boy’s over 70.
Tonight he wants narrative; I stoke his dreams,
tell him what every man wants to hear, how huge he feels
between my thighs, how I burn for his touch.
When he ignites, he’s nineteen again, or even forty,
not this aging poet, jacking off
to a girl he should pay by the hour.
That one time we met, he smelled like bonfire,
his bones, brittle kindling, blue eyes aflame.
And I, who sleep solo, wait for his texts.
Smoke signals on a desiccated highway.
Until I light the match.
Alexis Rhone Fancher is published in Best American Poetry, Rattle, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. She’s the author of five poetry collections, most recently The Dead Kid Poems, (KYSO Flash Press, 2019). A multiple Pushcart Prize nominee, Alexis is poetry editor of Cultural Weekly.
Now available on Amazon USA, Canada, UK and India
USA: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B096PFWHNR?ref=myi_title_dp
UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B096PFWHNR?ref=myi_title_dp
CANADA : https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B096PFWHNR?ref=myi_title_dp
INDIA: https://www.amazon.in/dp/B096PDWJHT?ref=myi_title_dp
Nice line: "Smoke signals on a desiccated highway."
ReplyDeleteLisbeth, Thank you!
Delete