Victoria Clayton Munn

A Prayer of the Flesh

I want to be a piece of meat. I want to go to a bar and lean against the torn vinyl, sweaty palmed, and talk to the guy in the leather jacket wearing too much Polo. His eyes will burn me, my mouth will phrase things slowly, better than “nice shoes, wanna fuck” but not much. He’ll touch me, I’ll feel the sleaze, and welcome it as we walk two cold blocks to his one bedroom. I’ll take the tour, brown carpet, white walls and we’ll end in the bedroom where I wanted to start the whole damn thing, bend me over the king size – face to the comforter where I can smell sex and other women’s perfume and take me, take me not because I can make you smile or am intelligent or can speak three languages. Take me because tonight I am beautiful, I am a woman and I want to fuck.

One Response

  1. Wow. I think every woman has felt that way, I know I did the night after I got my MFA. All of my friends who are not poets, thought I was crazy. The rest, being poets, understood.
    Anyway, great work, I’m inspired.

    Annette, from St. Louis

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