Licking Secrets Clean

by Tantra Bensko

The mannequin on the cross,

Roped and rouged,

Does not feel the same

As she thinks she does.

And our fantasies of her

Miraculously somehow wanting us

Do not fulfill, but tease,

Telling truths

To strangers in shackles

In old, cold rooms.

More perfect than we

Are, her hands,

Disengage and feel

Our secrets

And do not mind the cold.

The perfect body

Mocks our flaws

But her red lips smile

With understanding.

We have imagined

The comfort of a blind lover,

Who can't judge our looks, only feel us.

We have imagined the comfort

Of feeling our secret

Perfections in crowded rooms

Of our other judgments

About ourselves, which avert

Their eyes from our pleasure taking.

The mannequin's blind eyes,  open,  green,  serene,

Look away from the cross, her hand

Against our crotch, against

Our suffering, our agony of being

Alive and beating warm.