Sylvie Hill

Despite the Last Nights

The wet hairy man smell
Especially if you didn’t wash your hair
But wet, thick Egyptian curls like Maori dreads
Lengthened down your neck

And by god we’d be brain dead
After we’d have quick sex!
Slipping in an orgasm
Before Sunday dinner with your relatives!

Your Dad would greet us hello
We’d stare like zombies in apocalypse.
Seriously brain-fried from minds blown
And I could still feel you inside.

“We’re gonna get along just fine”
you once said after a gallery visit
when we got back to yours I lifted my dress
half naked on your black leather couch was the best.

So many great fun memories
Like you mistaken for a local in Paris.
Retarded you, nearly puked in bed
Too much drinking there in Switzerland.

But remember how I scratched my skin
Got vertigo and migraines so often?
I was itching to get out of fakeland village
And the Leon’s furniture: I never liked it.

I always knew you were meant for her
She looks like Julie Delply: magnificent.
You said “she’s my Jordan”
But one thing is different –

You’ve got the ability to be her husband
I could never be like the wife that ex is with.

I’m far too complex, complicated
Tricky for me to settle domesticated.
I love cooking, cleaning with my man
But we have to keep our brains/souls electric.

And your caretaker ways, you are great with kids
I never said I wanted them.
Take a look at my tallest ex
You’ll see me paired childless there, perfect.

My god how I faked it
and got into a relationship.
You just trying to prove yourself
Me, just desperate.

But there it was: foreign and Arabic
French-Swiss and intelligent.
Sociable, kind when not arrogant.
Striving to be man of the house: you did it!

But I never liked your hands much.
And you said my ass could perk up.
And I get ready to leave tonight
With a clear head, no orgasm in sight,
Didn’t we laugh a lot despite the last nights.

Sylvie Hill