The women he has had are all faces <br />without eyes. <br />He has entered them blind <br />as a cut worm. <br />He has swum their oceans <br />like a wounded fish <br />looking for home. <br /> <br />At nights when he can't sleep, <br />he dreams of weaving <br />backward up that river <br />where the banks <br />are fringed with mouths, <br />& weedy hair <br />grows amid the dark crusts <br />of ancient blood. <br /> <br />Tonight he is afraid & lonely <br />in a city of meat & knives. <br />I would go under his knife <br />& move so willingly <br />that his heart <br />might turn to butter <br />in his mouth.<br /><br />Erica Jong<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/knives-5/
