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I Want to be a Father (meascán fola is cré)

by anna waters





He had been fucking her for quite a while.



Had not been sure if he

Had been inside her

for some time now.

“Are you

“i dunno its just you see,

He detached his hips and swung and sat, facing away from the


Where he had been with her,


She had been

;perched; propped; poised;

Smelt sweat.


It’s just you see”

Pink clouds voiding against the sea,

physical, unlanded,

The shape itself remained blank.

Glass; ocean; body

Kissed by Boats, swaying lazy with sliced emptiness

Like waking dreams,

She loved the ocean, she loved how hard it was,

How like the womb that echoed through her

And emerging her, each time,

suspending skin so that she could not be swimming

to hung cloud, because her body was the sea -



A birth.


“I want to be a Father”

Or the night sky – watching, basically, forming, perhaps,

But not Of.

Finally, on the precipice of this dream he was still and unafraid.

It was right, and it was shapely.

But unmoved now, his need sold, his unused body became a sweating winter –

Could not move, but could stillen, could unmove into his hardened need,


his sweat fell, like his motion was


She touched a cold hand against his skin.


If he could just




It would be done, he would do her, he will be done.

And nervous, his father,

Who he guessed she imagined spat vinegar into his son’s face to spoil his birth, so

waterless was his character and so desperate he was to

BreedInnocen(spitting, fucking Father)s.


She touching him, knowing he was a man.


Oh, but baby come on, you know that’s not the whole story. No, no, no my

Trembling sweet:

Stop being

so illiteral.

She, plucking his body, and returning it to her,

And letting him sweat on her some more, making wet;

Turning his tides.



Image by Bree Anne
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