Sylvie Hill

THE STORY OF O … my God! (aka The Fuckers Cancelled Motörhead)

Beautiful chest
Nice, perky tits
Great hips
Like your lines.
Great feet
Pretty hands
Terrific ass
Wise eyes
You’re nice.

You feel.
You’re nuts
You’re hot
You’re wild.
Passionate –
Insane –
Demanding –
Daring me to love.
You’re mine.
His list: itemized.

Can I get you anything, you’re sick?
Can I fetch your groceries, give you a lift?
Here’s some lunch, I brought it, I bought it.
I have no empty drawers, but my bookshelf: make-shift.

Got your favourite tea.
Massaged your feet.
Served you ordeuvres.
Bought you a treat.
Made you a CD.
Gave you a gift in between
the six-course sushi
Valentine’s Day surprise.
Got two rings.
(Gave two rings).

Never thought of marrying until the dick.
Hey asshole! You do know I know what love is?

You’d shit on ME for talking like a teen
You said “teenage boy down round at the pub”
Yet at the actual pub all you kept on
Was when was the last time, if at all, I got fucked.

Are you serious, are you for real?
Or that you can’t talk “fucking” on email?
But in person is this like foreplay
Or is this a don’t do what I do, just what I say?
Never got a word in edgewise, anyway.

You got a great ass.
“So do you.”

Why don’t you ask her to marry you then?
“She could ask me, too.”

You really are from a land down under.
Inverting shit: never surrender?

I say this. You say that.
C’est ceci. C’est ça.

It’s on again. It’s off again.
Well, not … with … us, it ain’t.
We were so bloody off,
We got it on.
What the fuck?

You’re annoying.
I would kill you.
(Or have you killed).
You never stop talking.
You look like a witch.
“Yeh ehn ehn ehn”
said the witchy witch witch!
Your hands are fucking icy:
Fuck off, don’t touch me!
Where are your tits?
You’ve got a nice singing voice
for a muppet
Shut up. Shut it.
I’m gonna to come.

Wait!
Violent touch
Expressionless except for when puffing up
Secret whisper
Soundless come
Heavy breath
(Fuckers cancelled Motörhead).
Motionless eyes
Nothing inside
Heavy, dark
Hairy, stark
naked, confident
walkabout in
Slender cock
Race-horse physique
Feet.
Felt something weird
When you didn’t pull out.
Heart.
Throb.
Hands: the kind all girls dream
Of.

Beware: hands to strangle ya!

I say this. You say that.
C’est ceci. C’est ça.

The Story of O … my god!
Fuckers cancelled Motörhead.

© Sylvie Hill 2013