Monday, May 14, 2007


"In the Wild Hours"
by Seb N.

I got a God fearin' woman
one that I can easily afford.
She can do the Georgia crawl,
she can walk in the spirit of the Lord...
-Bob Dylan

I want to fuck you
in the wild hours
after midnight,
underneath a ceiling fan
slowly circling
through the dead air
with mosquitos
biting at our flesh.
To hear the gasping,
smell our sweating
and the creaking
of that old cast iron bed.

I want to fuck you
with the tide high
in the moonlight
in the dunes behind the cape.
Sliver, shining
rips the water,
waves are tumbling.
Hear the nightbirds flap and cry.
Kiss the sea salt
from your shoulders,
feel the ocean
as it rolls inside of you.

I want to fuck you
in the morning
as yellow sunlight
bathes a room with a garden view,
after watching you sleeping
still and peaceful
and recalling
that mad and blazing night before--
so cruel, so tender
and ask no questions
if I never see you
again, we had that night.

I want to fuck you
in a strange room
filled with strangers
and the ghosts of travelers past.
Filled with objects,
filled with fiction
under a false name.
We could say we're man and wife
while your husband
thinks you're shopping,
or out sitting
with a sickly relative.

I want to fuck you
in a rowboat
on a river
with a slow and lazy grind
use the water
the gentle rocking
people walking
on the bank wonder "what're they don'?"
Throw your head back,
throes of rapture
hold your breasts out
for me to, panting, bite and kiss.

I want to fuck you
as a woman
filled with longing
for a man to sense her soul
and the fire
and sweet, dark fire
that within her
has been stifled for too long.
I want to watch you
come alive with me
in that midnight,
once more wild and once more free.

Seb N. hails from San Jose, California, and he quite likes it there. Despite the handicap of a public education in Baltimore, he both holds a job and speaks reasonable English. He is a big, happy drunk and a rather hit and miss poet. Seb drives a Pepper Green 1970 GTO.


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