POETRY: She left lipstick on my saxophone

POETRY: She left lipstick on my saxophone

I still remember her face, grown

Enough so she let me set the pace

And she didn’t want to go home

The smell of her hair still lingered, rich

On my preadolescent moustache

I remember trying to keep my breath fixed

On hers as she tried to teach me to please, to love

Even though she had loved and lost a lot

Of years and her heart aged, the moon on her back used to be a dove

To represent she once had peace, now she battles

With my unwilling zipper and my inexperience

In the art of making a woman take the position of a foetus

Which is what I feel like next to her, her prey

She watched me get uneasy from her stare

And followed me around the room, over excited so I delayed

The inevitable, the desired outcome

Of her advances, of her goading me into one daydream

After another, quick succession like she made me come

To the conclusion I would only drink aged wine, rich

Like my life is, so I could afford sax lessons

My parents I mean, they must know why I no longer wear briefs

Why I spend so much time on my own, on my phone

Viewing her onset features like the ones in the magazines

I still remember the first time, innocent

I was without profanity and pain

I plucked the strings on my guitar with elegance

I admire your fingering, she said half smirking

I sat still fiddling the instrument

And she knelt and spent her lipstick on my saxophone.


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