One doubled, we go out to eat,
Turkish
For two. Then:
Home again.
Still hungry, he eats me out.
Still starving, wish I’d stayed in.
My hollow cave
Groans, apple core brain coated by
Thin skin.
Fat chance. I
Face the fact.
His seeds simply won’t accept
The arid soil in me; just
Tumble and dry.
My cherry syrup smears his mouth,
I have,
Bare parched lips,
Bloody thighs
A white sculptured waist in mind,
A landscape, cut off sharp by
The knife inside
My cavern, my fertile grotto.
Tip tap.
Empty room,
Full silence.
Who is that inside there now?
Who would like to sneak a peek?
Someone knocking?
But no, the moon drops right out of
The sky.
Swelling tides,
Flat voices.
It’s aching where the knife is
It’s given like a prize,
It’s job well done!
We acknowledge the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people, who are the Traditional Custodians of the land on which Woroni, Woroni Radio and Woroni TV are created, edited, published, printed and distributed. We pay our respects to Elders past and present and emerging. We acknowledge that the name Woroni was taken from the Wadi Wadi Nation without permission, and we are striving to do better for future reconciliation.