Free The Poetry of Sex by Sophie Hannah Page B

wounded soul.
    I’m after passion, thrills, and fun.
    You say fun takes its toll,
    So what are we doing here? I fear
    We’ve lost our common goal.
    You’re rubbish at adultery.
    I think you ought to quit.
    Trouble is, at fidelity,
    You’re also slightly shit.
    Choose one and do it properly
    You stupid, stupid git.

End of the Affair
Dan Burt
    It ends soundlessly: my hand slips yours
    To adjust demeanour for a neighbour,
    No bang, bombed body sprawled, no prayer,
    Just a gentle unlacing of fingers
    Wrests warp from woof in the tapestry we
    Fashioned from Fragonards and poetry
    To decorate our idyll. We stand
    Naked by the roadside with vagrant hands,
    Sunlit in senescent imperfection,
    My stoop and vanished waist, runt canyons
    Time and disappointment wore in your face,
    In silence that surrounds a fall from grace
    And separate soon after, sans goodbye,
    Relieved what never lived had died.



6
     
‘WHAT’S IN IT FOR ME?’

Badly Chosen Lover
Rosemary Tonks
    Criminal, you took a great piece of my life,
    And you took it under false pretences,
    That piece of time
    – In the clear muscles of my brain
    I have the lens and jug of it!
    Books, thoughts, meals, days, and houses,
    Half Europe, spent like a coarse banknote,
    You took it – leaving mud and cabbage stumps.
    And, Criminal, I damn you for it (very softly).
    My spirit broke her fast on you. And, Turk,
    You fed her with the breath of your neck
    – In my brain’s clear retina
    I have the stolen love-behaviour.
    Your heart, greedy and tepid, brothel-meat,
    Gulped it like a flunkey with erotica.
    And very softly, Criminal, I damn you for it.

Fetish
Samantha Willis
    I can see this relationship tanking,
    so it’s time to be honest, I think.
    In the space between dreaming and wanking,
    I’ve developed a striking new kink.
    Though I used to be coy and coquettish,
    as all men like their women to be,
    my new-leaf aspirational fetish
    is demanding, ‘What’s in it for me?’
    I can see this might be disconcerting
    for a man who likes hookers and porn,
    in whose mind every female is squirting
    to the sound of his name, dusk till dawn,
    so let’s get you some sex education
    with incentives: my Love USP
    is undying devout adoration
    but first tell me: what’s in it for me?
    You would like me to make you my hero,
    to discuss, at great length, Aston Villa;
    in exchange you are offering zero;
    one-way traffic. So dull. So vanilla.
    I’ll forgive your flawed pacing (too snaily);
    I’ll provide all you need, and for free,
    and I’m happy to email you daily
    if you tell me what’s in it for me.
    Is it something I’m presently lacking?
    A locked room with an out-of-reach key?
    If you want my support and my backing
    then I think anyone would agree
    you must tell me what’s in it for me.
    Please, before I’m a hundred and three,
    can you tell me what’s in it for me?

From Strugnell’s Sonnets
Wendy Cope
    The expense of spirits is a crying shame,
    So is the cost of wine. What bard today
    Can live like old Khayyam? It’s not the same –
    A loaf and Thou and Tesco’s Beaujolais.
    I had this bird called Sharon. Fond of gin –
    Could knock back six or seven. At the price
    I paid a high wage for each hour of sin
    And that was why I only had her twice.
    Then there was Tracy, who drank rum and Coke.
    So beautiful I didn’t mind at first
    But love grows colder. Now some other bloke
    Is subsidizing Tracy and her thirst.
    I need a woman, honest and sincere,
    Who’ll come across on half a pint of beer.

Message
Wendy Cope
    Pick up the phone before it is too late
    And dial my number. There’s no time to spare –
    Love is already turning into hate
    And very soon I’ll start to look elsewhere.
    Good, old-fashioned men like you are rare –
    You want to get to know me at a rate
    That’s guaranteed to drive me to despair.
    Pick up the phone before it is too late.
    Well, wouldn’t it be nice to consummate
    Our friendship while we’ve still got teeth and hair?
    Just bear in