our bodies writhe in harmonious motion,
singing and playing off a tune we give each other,
we don't know what love is but we can pretend
like we do.
our bodies dance together in synchronisation,
it is something they shame with their crucifixes,
like what we do with our bodies is for
them to dictate.
our bodies roam each other like wonderlands,
a touch is a touch, a mouth is just a mouth
unless you choose to make a meaning out of it,
and we don't.
our bodies know what we physically crave,
a moan that makes you feel holy and human again;
she's religion in those high heels and you think you could
almost love her.
our bodies are our bodies,
and what we do with them lie within our destiny,
whether you choose to let others touch or not,
it's none of your goddamn business.
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THE NOSTALGIA GENERATION [wattys 2018]
Poetrya compendium of impetuous diatribes, pretentious poetry and clandestine glimpses of the horrors and woes of a poisoned youth from a washed-up, bitter so-called hipster, who psychoanalyses her own generation. [alternatively called savvy g...
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