The Next Level Of Pornography Is Taking The Photo So You're’ Looking At Your Own Body

By Nadine Botha

The twilight
said the freckled piano teacher,
penist teacher I said today it should be called,
was what Adorno ascribed as the ailment,
she didn’t use these words of being conscious
the instant before losing yourself
and for an instant
being a bat AND yourself,
I use in this moment of my genitals
alight with presence,
she cut them I think
for that,
or maybe for the sunrise –
perpetually just above the horizon.
In the midday I talk about routes and my heart
is thumping to a rhythm of sex in his voice,
I expect,
so I hear it.
I feel it in a twilight of revulsion in my genitals.
Turds was the word I used the whole day –
not in relation to my genitals.
But it’s twilight and the candle is lubricated for a f*ck,
she didn’t f*ck.
I didn’t understand that I was aroused,
in myself disgusted, and thinking
that my association, my associate had raped me
by the instance in my head
I was not involved in but only on the outside,
could I watch it alone,
manifests fists in my life
I beat myself with
but never win.

This Poem Features In: