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For My Lover In Defense of My Whorishness, and: Thanatos, and: Eros, and: While You Work Under Florescent, and: Cicada, and: Dragonfly: Nymph, and: Cricket, and: A Small City Garden

For My Lover In Defense of My Whorishness, and: Thanatos, and: Eros, and: While You Work Under... FOR MY LOVER IN DEFENSE OF MY WHORISHNESS/Löwra Henrikson But don't you see my poor darling, that loyalty is a silly virtue in the pass we are in? . . . Woe betide whoever falls into my clutches. --Manon Lescaut How jejune the thick stalks of your love. How tender the blossoms. My fingers are whorled with gold rings spun by other men, and I can't begin counting on both hands the times I've torn your roots up and replanted you. You're getting weak. Cold and pasty. Don't droop into my lap again, fraU man. Don't listen when I say I love you. I love you. Because you're the bulb who spawned my garden. Because I'm the fat bumblebee call me a whore. I buzz sucking nectar off every flower but you. And please, when I'm called a whore. I lick it up. See, here's where you went wrong. You've been too easy for too long. A woman doesn't like that. In sex you wilt in the heat of my sun and I could simply grind you up in my tea bag, serve you honeyed to a new man. The Missouri Review · 62 CaU me vain. I http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

For My Lover In Defense of My Whorishness, and: Thanatos, and: Eros, and: While You Work Under Florescent, and: Cicada, and: Dragonfly: Nymph, and: Cricket, and: A Small City Garden

Henrikson, Laura.
The Missouri Review , Volume 20 (1) – Oct 5, 1997
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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
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Abstract

FOR MY LOVER IN DEFENSE OF MY WHORISHNESS/Löwra Henrikson But don't you see my poor darling, that loyalty is a silly virtue in the pass we are in? . . . Woe betide whoever falls into my clutches. --Manon Lescaut How jejune the thick stalks of your love. How tender the blossoms. My fingers are whorled with gold rings spun by other men, and I can't begin counting on both hands the times I've torn your roots up and replanted you. You're getting weak. Cold and pasty. Don't droop into my lap again, fraU man. Don't listen when I say I love you. I love you. Because you're the bulb who spawned my garden. Because I'm the fat bumblebee call me a whore. I buzz sucking nectar off every flower but you. And please, when I'm called a whore. I lick it up. See, here's where you went wrong. You've been too easy for too long. A woman doesn't like that. In sex you wilt in the heat of my sun and I could simply grind you up in my tea bag, serve you honeyed to a new man. The Missouri Review · 62 CaU me vain. I

Journal

The Missouri Review – University of Missouri

Published: Oct 5, 1997

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