This poem is by my friend Deana Platt, check it out:

Book in me


If I was a prostitute and you were my john…

Firstly, you’d stand erect to my command

and climb on up to the top shelf

where I’d demand you’d pull

me gentle down.

Quickly – snuff my jacket of fairy dust deposit

Take off my jacket - don’t hang me in the closet!

Now knead on down my spine

- feel the arch that leads to that

yearning place of wonderous words

Lay – and I’d gently caress

your hand to a page that curls up to squeeze

and joins a member of that rhythmic movement


Open the page – the one with the corner kink

This is where I want you to stop, think

and drink the smell of that intoxicating ink

Within these pages are

Cardinal sin

A fetish craving - a demand for more

because words do that honeyed in my trap.

From a deliberate voice you’d take and trust

Whether eloquent or natural –

Crisp, ripped or rough

I’ll suck you dry in a blood member rush

My flicker would dart from pleasure to pain

Causing rapid eye movements

To salivate and dribble and –

Take my lead

There’s more on these pages week after week

Enter on in for a pleasurable tweak.

I wouldn’t take your money nor ram down throat

As I smother do not choke

but open-mouthed

I’d give you a tour of my insides

A guaranteed blow of a trumpet aching

song of gratitudinal pain and pleasure

Taken at your leisure

Every time you open me

An ecstatic pinnacle of release

A place to visit…

Come visit

I hope you understand the need for a long term fix always wins over from a short-term kiss

If you book in me

What you’ll always get is

hungry for more special effects

of linguistic mix

far greater enjoyed

than a short-term fix

of a kiss

of who-knows what

dear john

So pick me up

I’m a sure best must