Chris Shreenan-Dyck


the best heterosexual sex of the year
was between her bowlegs
and his small belly
had black hairs
her tongue knew well
on the way to moans
born behind imperfect
breasts and crooked teeth
that bit the odors
of body weeps
coating the violence
of consented insanity
and later
her forefinger
lightly across his balding head


The 2River View, 4_1 (Fall 1999)