Digging deep

pepper

Here I am again
here, with you
you... perfect formation of... him
you... earthbound ego
you... clueless container
you... who can't touch skin without crawling inside it
without wearing it
like a cheap catwalk copy made on a budget of child-size fingers and souls, and sold
at £5 a pop... bargain
for skin
and the belief that
once you've lifted Adams leaf that
with all you've got left then your naked
well baby
if that's naked
then I'm inappropriately dressed
a mess?
I guess
cos here I am again and your still unimpressed
with my
openness
and my
undressed flesh
pink, raw and unassuming
proving
that you still can't see
well fuck me I've tried
and now I've washed away my pride
on tidal waves of sweat
and my only regret
is that I didn't do it sooner
or for the other lover
who turned in me like certain kinds of keys that unlock secrets, whose
deepest of journeys was into himself, and then me
you see, he
preferred the slugs to the snails
and only followed the trails away from the shells
but I can tell
that you'll just sell
one story for another
cos your mother wore magazines with style, and while
that's the only kinda reading that your likely to do
well then
I'm through
with finding you.