When we were in school, they taught us to play
Rock-Paper-Scissor. They instructed us
to fold, unfold and display. The same game
I now play in quite different milieu.
It's now gloved and oiled that my fingers twist,
that my thumb touches the rim round your wrist,
And it's with fingered Rock-Paper-Scissor
that I now pierce into you, knowingly,
having been a child quick to learn the game.
I often think of Rock-Paper-Scissor.
Not only during our endless morning-
evening frolics, not only when I want
to penetrate you, go still deeper to
find the vulnerability in you;
I also think of Rock-Paper-Scissor
when we play the sadomasochistic
game of love; after I come in you with
my hands: when you flatten my heart under
your rock and I cut yours with a scissored
heart. I hear fingered blades chop, slice, slit, mince
in me; my paper heart crumbles like an
aluminum foil that wriggles and tears:crisped crusted crushed: Rock-Paper-Scissor-Heart.