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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue...
Down in the Dirt magazine (v117)
(the May / June 2013 Issue)




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Love Shapes

D.S. Maolalai

She wanted this guy
who was with a girl
that I wanted
a pretty, pale girl
with a face like a vampire
and who wore artists clothes
and who spoke like cut glass
built herself into black lace poetry
rather than into a woman.

She wanted to be with him,
because he was tall
and nice,
he laughed at things
and loved to love, but
she was too young,
going towards fat
living with her mother in a small flat
that was never really clean, and
she said
“Fuck it, lets it be us for a while”
I was, what, seventeen? God I was young
but yeh, I thought, it’s better than
being alone.

There are a few things better than
being alone
but this was not one of them.
We would lay on her couch
with her fat belly on my belly
my cock shifting in her hand
and she would say to me
“What do you think they’re doing now?
You think she’s sucking him off?
You think they have whips and condoms?
You think she wears a mask and ties him down?”
I’d say “I guess he’s shitting on her chest”
because I didn’t want to think
about them, I wanted silence.
“Cant we not talk about this?”

It was all she wanted to talk about
and I just wanted to empty myself
into something
didn’t really want her,
didn’t want the other one so much
either, looking back.
I mean, at the time I did
but I’m glad it never happened.
It would have been like being with
a photo in a magazine
of an art-fashion shoot,
like a woman you never speak with
only look at.
But she’s a lesbian now - my girl,
not his one,
we no longer speak
but I’ve seen her pictures
and sometimes I wonder who it was
that she really wanted
to whip.



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