dali by dixon

Hot, Sexy Dali

“When’s the last time you had sex?” he asked.
I cocked my head, stared at the passing red double-deckers
He laughed, said: “If you have to think about it
It’s been too long!” he cried!

“Who broke up with who?” he questioned.
I cocked my head, looked up at the London sky
He scoffed, said: “If you have to think about it
You’ve been dumped!” he jibed.

This coming from the man who said I’m the one sounded
Like a teenage boy at the pub, come round
To talk about his/her sexual exploits, said
“I don’t tell you about mine,” and
“What makes you think I want to hear about yours!
And there he was going on, NOT STOPPING, in person!

I was in my cups not seeing his Dali Aphrodisiac-ness
Green vodka globes pinned to his jacket neatly—villain!
I was too focused on the mystery of his c-c-cryptic pull:
His duality and his confusing dichotomies, to be sure!

Even when we were eating noodles, and the waters came
You said: “You don’t know if they’ve been spiked with date rape
drugs, what a thing to say a jet-lagged Canadian!
Was he preparing me for what would come later at the Jesmond?

You’re the one who yanked my pants off, man!
(But I bet it’s cause I couldn’t put them back on, eh, OK fair enough.)
How did I make it the toilet and back, too drunk?
Lost my phone, on your stack of shirts, socks and pants!

What were your clothes doing in a bunch by the hearth?
I would never in a million years or here on planet Earth
reckon you’d be sat naked in my hotel room
As I stood there in alligator underwear at the Jesmond!

I can’t even remember when my American Apparel bralet
came off; just laughing about a wayward trek home in a rickshaw!
And you blaming ME cuz I wouldn’t stop?
But I recall redirecting your beard North from going South.

Standing there naked at first talking about God knows what!
You said TWO HOURS, how the hell & what was I on about?
Did you turn on the TV or just observe me like an obtuse painting
Did I have sense to stand straight, my posture, hold in my belly in my panties?

And in the morning – how fucked up was that?!
No alarm clocks set, but managed to get us up.
For the record, I initiated nothing just looked for tenderness
Where the fuck did my alligator-print underwear go,
The couch was also soaked in wet!

Who spilled the water?
How on earth did we peel off my jeans?
You had to have slept on the granola bars,
they were there in the morning.

And fuck, you made me miss my Jesmond B&B breakfast (sorry Glyn)
Irony is there would have been orange juice
Rubbing it in that I didn’t even suck
the juice from your lemon.

How could I? I didn’t even know how I got there, mate!
It was bad enough you confused me being nice for a change!
The whole fucking morning went hot, sexy Dali:
Yes, sexy D[u]ali[ty]:
Anomaly | Comedy | Fantasy | Fucky.

I made small talk: “So, what will you do today?” And you said:
“Get some breakfast” as I went to give you a gift
I really did buy those books with you in mind
You said, “take them,” and left them behind.

Morning was mistaken identities like a hot, sexy Dali
Where you started and I began: forever a bloody mystery.
That I turned something “cool,” possibly
Into something controlling and ugly,
That you knew I was easy prey
Skinny, arty and flighty,
That you said “you wouldn’t stop bugging me”
We went full hot, sexy Dali – eccentric and batty
A highly attention-grabbing exchange
At once fucked-up
But “interesting.”

© Sylvie Hill 2014

ART: dixon/”Hot, Sexy Dali”/ 25x35cm /spray paint and synthetic enamel on found publicity/ 2009