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