Here in my tableau vivant
we are stationary and silent. theatrically
lit in my orange nissan micra we are
posing like we might kiss. you are leaning
across the handbrake and gearstick into
me, the driver wishing she, me, were less circumspect more
receptive to whatever you’re about to give.
whatever i want is already too much like
jouissance i am horny but suffering or
more accurately horny for the suffering. truth is
i find the word suffering to be totally drab and truth is i want
you to lean into me a little more but you can’t, cause
it’s a tableau vivant, and we are static.
by Sophia Walsh
Sophia Walsh lives and works and writes in Naarm (Australia). ig: @so00ophia