Yolanda Castaño - LESS IS MORE

He didn’t say
If I told you how repugnant your mouth is to me,
the puddle of your greasy, clamouring hormones.
I’d rather stick my fingers in the socket
than my face in the stifling capaciousness of your tits.
He didn’t say
Sweet Jesus! For a landslide of rocks on my head right now
rather than the burden of your feverish nights,
give me breathing space between me
and the cloying sweet sponge cake of your needs.
I’d rather stick needles in my eyeballs
than suck the pulp of your decrepitude.
He didn’t tell me to fuck off, he didn’t tell me vete
a la mierda.
I’d rather an abscess in the ear, a fist in the pit of the stomach.
I can’t stand the country clamour of your hunger,
listening to your thighs scream
like piglets waiting for the axe.

He simply
didn’t say.