I enjoyed especially the way the actresses smoked
between takes; it was the only honesty
they had left, and thus
precious, after a fashion.
While others might goggle
the snotty-nosed drip of an unwiped
strapon, I'd listen to the flintlock
click of fingers as they summoned lighters,
cigarettes, a sip of Diet Fanta.
It's no use watching lips purse
during fellatio ' that's all their art '
but spying womb-pink flesh pucker
round filter tips, open,
blow, that's the real show,
watching the stem jitter between knuckles
as if today they're female drivers
recounting details after
a very traumatic incident,
and the police officer is nodding
and they are badly shaken.
Sometimes, the girls dressed in cop
uniforms; sometimes, they were nurses;
once, it was naughty lab assistants with conical
flasks (they had discovered a sex formula)
but even then, it wasn't the briny sweat
nor the whale song of orgasms '
it was the massaged temples
during breaks; it was the misjudged flick
of a cardboard match; it was the way they picked
scabs like a striptease.
