by Mica Evans

Want a carnal man
that can warrant
rants, and carnal
pangs. Grab that
man, and act small,
half as fast.
Slip him wit, wink,
giggling - swig gin,
think quick. Kiss
his split lip, pink
Irish skin; kiss his
thick wrists till illicit.
Draft a psalm
that has black
hands, brass palms,
and grasslands; chant
all mad, crass, as
adamant as jazz.
Sing it with him, in
vivid midnights,
light his spliffs, fix
his spirit. Still fight
his piggish schisms.
It will thrill him.
Alarm that man;
hand clasp back, arms,
grab calf, draw bath.
Charm and attract
that carnal man; smash
what that man has.