For a Man

Women make better friends, they said

Nails bite like incisors into soft, warm flesh

Women are fluid


Then I took

A man with big hands and enormous feet

Whose hair tickles parts of me

About which my Mother didn’t tell

Fingers that sing tricky tunes of love

The bee’s sting of desire


I know women

But I love a man


I am not a traitor to my sisters’ cause

Punching my fist in the face of ideological rejection

I am the projection of




Merely human


Louise M. Hart












Ode to Ruby Rose

Your hair is sunlight


Illuminating your face


Strands like fingers




Sweet caresses


To your skin


Of silken lace




Mine is brittle


Whose strands betray


And belittle


The pulp that lies


Beneath my eyes


Flesh ruddy and hostile




Your breath kisses the wind


Mine is stained with the scent


Of cigarettes and sin


I have lived amongst men


But love only women


You love none


More than yourself


And display your body


For a living


I display my mind


And am a dying monument


To life upon the shelf




Your eyes shine like cerulean


And the diamonds you wear


Suggest the wealth of your talent


If only I could rest my head


Between your breast’s


Heaves of submission


And be reborn as beauty


Love, truth


And death in remission




You are an illustrated woman


Your flesh frames


Each picture you portray


So, I read you with a lascivious look


Devour your painted form


Like an open book


And then I look again


And imagine


That you have stamped


My library card of a heart


With a kiss of approval




But you are no more real


Than the love I feel


When I gaze at photographs


Of you


For you are young


And I am too old and ugly


To be loved by one


As beautiful as you




Louise M. Hart


Whilst I was drowning

She waved

“…you’re breaking my heart

You’re shaking my confidence



The birds on the breeze

Didn’t whisper my name

But the birds in the bar

Tweeted, “A pint please,


And I answered them

With indiscreet wheezes of

“Yesss, please”


(Help me!)


I swallowed greedily

Licking windows

And clits



For whilst I was drowning

She was charming

The baby dyke

Whose fringe

Swept me off my feet

Like gold dust

From her plump eyelashes


She was a whole number

To my oddness


Whilst I was drowning

She waved

Right out to sea

Until it took her

As I had not-

She who had washed

Her hands of me

Many years before


…and me


…always remembering

The lingering scent of her fingers

On shifting sands

Of my receding memory strands

And pubic hair

Viewed furtively on demand


20 years on

She drowned

Whilst I wobbled


On land

Dry and firm


She had drowned

Whilst I was waving


Taking the P. H. out of Love

For the only man I really loved and

the alcoholic Scottish afternoons, evenings and nights…

I loved him

Like a comfort blanket

I would wrap around me

Twice a week

But the blanket


Into my flesh

Like the cheap vodka bottles

Whose contents

We projectile vomited

Against a wall

Cracked with my spidery

Web of deceit

And all to prevent us from falling

More deeply

Into reality’s slow waves

Of unreturnable sleep

Every hug

The blanket bestowed

Represented a drink

Poured down my hoary throat

As dry

As a virgin’s quim

Or a mammary gland

No natural man

Could possibly caress

And hardwired to out queer

My more masterful

Sapphic sisters

And the screaming queens

Who were my soul brother’s

Chicken licking lovers

A comfort blanket


With the discarded nails

He plucked

From his outrageously orange

Tinted fingers tips

As he plucked me

The shallow and demanding female

Who roughly stroked his skin

And sucked his bones

Only to please

And manipulate him

I did not even feel his nails


Me inside

Rather dismissing the blood

I shed

From my womanly empty head

To the rosy pink tips

Of my inverted toes

And MY tits

With an extravagant

Swish of the hand

Of every unwanted thought

I fought to valiantly dismiss

The kisses I imparted

Were shaped

For the delectation

Of another’s lips

For, though my heart lightened

In his presence

It burned in hers

She did not break it

It was I who reached inside

My own compliant chest

And withdrew

The essential organ

Of all hope and penetrable pleasure

At the height

Of a micro second of time

When I realised

That I could never

Love his kind, again

And thus, never did