Mark Heathcote

I guard lovemaking with a secret oath

Who is she cavorting-in-the sunlight with?
Who is he dancing-in-the moonlight with?
Dullness is lovemaking without love,
love without passion is tedium
a cyanide pill kept on a low shelf
always retained within easy reach
of a poor wretched dove
who’d coo all day to oneself?

I knew what it once was to be loved
I know what it is to reach an apex.
Sing, sing ecstatically to the zeniths.
It’s pure tediousness kissing dry lips
that no longer desire or care a jot.
But a heavenly snare to those that
with lust bauble to please and pleasure,
drool-moist and flower in the sweet-briar.

I guard lovemaking with a secret oath
transgressions as these are detrimental
to one’s wider health if-lovemaking
isn’t love if passion isn’t tinged with endless lust?
For me, each time wouldn’t be a first,
it wouldn’t be a burgeoning bud
this is what it is, in all honestly, to love.
In all honestly, what it is to make passionate love.

Adolescent hormones

Look here. Look there?
Look everywhere?
I want a goddess who’ll lead me away
from mischievous gypsy camps.
From loose women of easy virtue,
I’m a juvenile leopard changing his spots
but I have a serpentine devil in my pants
with a three-pronged lance
look here. Look there?
Look everywhere?
The whores of Babylon
and the wenches of France
are serving up a biblical Moulin Rouge dance,
in my pants, in my pants
in my pants, inarguable
yet my heart wants romance.

Just marvel in nature

Cow-down with a belly of machine-churned mud
be as the blowflies in a dead dog’s rancid gore
virginity is a cosmetic window-dressed whore.
Awaiting arrow-headed demons in cold blood,
cold love, lust hungry: hear-her-hearts outpour
out on a limb on a cusp of a buttercup, rotted.
Be as the centipede under her silver birch skin
snake in the long grass for her white mouse moons
breastbones to breastbone feel no funerals sin
just marvel in nature your-lust-looms-in.


What’s it take to cleanse a polluted river?
Takes Mountains, and mountains, brother:
Takes a hard bed, a soft silt bed sister
That’s why silver and gold are so pure
They burned in the sun’s highest summit
Ablutions were discovered in that plummet
That’s what it takes for a virgin or a whore
That’s what it takes to cleanse, procure
A body of water another sees, effulgent.

Listen to the sitar players theorize

Join me on your knees on your belly, please
With Gold in her teeth and hunger in her eyes
The devil whispers in the reed’s come-join-me
Join me; listen to the sitar players theorize
The movement’s serpentine in willowy skies.’

See the honey locust sunset ascending roots
See how your thighs make shadows ripple
See how the boy’s eye twinkle oval tributes
See how his thoughts remain ever wistful
Join him in the shade like a moth ever vernal.

Let him provide ‘light’ poked out of the darkness.
Let him watch your wings burn star bright
Let him hear the moon sing of her loneliness
Let the devil be fulfilled – quiver like a red termite!
In the baron emptiness, a harlot strikes at night.


Mark Andrew Heathcote is adult learning difficulties support worker. He has poems published in journals, magazines, and anthologies both online and in print. He resides in the UK and is from Manchester. Mark is the author of “In Perpetuity” and “Back on Earth,” two books of poems published by Creative Talents Unleashed.

Spread the lust

The Erozine