The road not taken, v. 2.0

Still for G., once more (pity he doesn’t read English!)
[Permission to monkey with Frost’s famous poem granted by the author himself]

By Ester Astudillo

You turn me on.
With a flame for a rose
And a fuck for hunger
I come alife, anti-Midas-wise fashion:
I gorge on your hand
The minute you take mine,
Its sleek tepid golden touch
So unlike a human’s.

Your mouth inflamed my lungs,
Your daring made me greedy,
A lush voluptuousness
Awaiting solely our resolve.

The smell of rain
Soaking our hearts
That day we jointly
Peeled our flesh off
Shots back, spiralling,
It now mocks my insubstantial
Breathing,
No embellishments granted.
Wasn’t it going to be like this?
The strict simplicity
Of thought, sex
... And love, perhaps?

I cannot pretend
We ever made it,
Not any more,
Though your sperm
Keeps pulsating
Inside my funnel,
Oh so sparingly and palatable!,
And I grow big,
No witnesses granted,
And my litter come to live
Fatherlessly wounded.

You split me open
Cupid-like,
Your venomous arrow
Exquisitely on fire,
Ever so deliberate!
Such was the expediency in it!
Yet you failed to dig deep
When all needed was
That minute spare
Of bold lunacy.
And the road not traveled, my dear,
Please take my word for this,
That has made all the difference.