This is a Simple Request

David, I must say,
your hands alone
are the ones
that even now -
calloused, with nails
bitten down
to their soft swells
of pink flesh -
hold the secrets
of her warm dark places.
I swear
I can still smell what must be
the musk of your pubes in the sweet
darkness of her body:
a scent she will not let go of.
Yes, I have been seeing
you in all the cafes,
the same cup of coffee
in those hands now
otherwise empty without her
solid reality. I am the one
behind strategic newspapers
you no longer read.
This is a simple request:
dream your scent
back from her body.
There is only room
for one growing obsession.


Mark Jason Weston

Originally published in Verandah Volume 14 (Australia)