Déshabillé
Saying goodbye, he kneels so they are eye to eye,
And then pulls her close, holding her tight, claiming
The shape of her bones with clumsy, clammy
Returning hands: clavicle, scapula, pelvis, thigh.
His fingers travelling, needing that haptic fix,
Unravelling geography and geometry;
Love like L-dopa, memory – synaptic tricks -
Awakening, shores and shapes rushing in,
The topography stretching out, the moment elastic:
History, anthropology, a religion of lust and sin.
(We want to touch children, and animals:
It’s our first response – to reach out, to pet,
To stroke, to hold, to groom – prelapsarian
In its simplicity, uncomplicated by sexual
Tension and implication. The primeval set
Of genes from which love evolved,
A reflexive action, boundaries dissolved;
Yet so fraught with danger, so easily confused
That one can nearly share the sentiments of …
That one can barely tell the difference between…
The abuser and the abused?)
He pushes his nose in under her jaw,
Wanting the smell of her to claw at his nerves;
Nothing unique, the stink of child, undeserving
Of the scented disguises that adults can flaunt.
He stands – needing again that height, that stature -
Turns and leaves. The air screams! The fabric tears,
Ripped at the seams down years and years…
Lives undressed, stripped; Oh the hate! The rapture!
