New poetry by Wellington writer Carolyn DeCarlo.
The Ultimate Freedom of Space and Time
Sometimes when masturbating I think about my friends’ perfect bodies having sex with angels.
Or, angelic sex with each other.
Or, dirty sex where my friends are covered in mud and having sex with earthworms.
Having sex in pools of blood with unicorns.
Unicorns bleeding out into pools of sex for my friends.
Or, my red coat having sex with a candle.
My cats having sex with a palm tree.
Ice cubes having sex with waxed paper.
Or, my house having sex with Marie Antoinette.
My house traveling to France in 1778 to have sex with Marie Antoinette after meeting her on the internet.
My house sitting at the end of Marie Antoinette’s bed while she sleeps, telling itself the story of their lives together.
Marie inside of my house.
Or, my house inside of Marie.
Marie Antoinette reaching orgasm while dreaming of my house catching on fire.
Little lights twinkling in the rooms set on fire by Marie’s love for my house while she sits on the chimney and spins.
How many times Marie came while thinking of the cherry tree in the garden behind my house.
An inconceivable number, similar to the number of times dolphins have used their brains to solve for X using the quadratic formula.
These things are kept secret for our protection by the best minds in the universe, so we can go on touching things without leaking cosmic matter onto our underpants.
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