bucking the cherry - more collab, more epic, now!

First epic poem for two

I like to touch your osso buco and your
billy beard. I know by heart the curling
hairs and the marrow I suck down nightly,
your old man nipple and the hip hop heart
you try to hide beneath that cool jazz veneer.
We are too beautiful and we'll take our
shit to Bremen Street; we'll flagrante delicto

(Stacia M. Fleegal)
and if my tattoos could impersonate
Gaga, they'd bossily, saucily say
let's have some fun, this beat's my dub,
I wanna take a ride on your billy club.
I'm so glad you're done fucking
around with that Dickinson chick--isn't
she a lesbian? Come
enjoy the company of a woman
whose clothes are already off.

(Ryder)
Kimmie, your stuff's better than Emily
or any BAP poem I've selected. It's
tight & wet & sings the blues about love
& cigarettes every time I enter it.
No one ever asks how many angels

can fit in there; no one ever holds your

muff up to the light. I say drop mousey

me in & watch me probe my way out.                             

 

 

(Stacia)

Oh Billy boy, flattery will get you

all you were ever afraid to write about:

cunt envy, a reading gig on Bremen Street

the evening after the farmer's market when

you'll understand the aerodynamics of
rotten rhubarb and radicchio. Talk about wet
and singing the blues. Don't worry, I'll
unbutton the top three and distract
the mob--but now you owe me. Blurb me,
oh yeah, right there.

 

 

(Ryder)

I’ll blurb you so hard that the neighbor’s dog

will start barking again and I’ll wish I had

a gun. But you, Kimmie dear, are ammo enough

for an old poet like me; I’ve said there’s

nothing I need more than what’s on my kitchen

table. I lied. Until that day when

wifey’s away and I throw you up on it,

my kitchen’s desolate and too homey

without your tatt-ed body. I want to

see you bucking the cherry wood across

the linoleum as you writhe under

my pen. I will write you hard and I’ll write

you long, as long as my old flesh can, and if

you workshop me, I’ll even try revision. 

Yours,

Stacia & Ry

P.S. Sex on the kitchen table brought to you today by Punkboy and the letter S.