Arlene Ang

There is no pleasure like a husband.

Knife holders have a way of unsheathing steel,
every stretch of skin magnetizes with cold sweat.

This is the threading of web,
kiss that cuts with silvered teeth.

Needles are silent witnesses to this wedding -
a studied handicraft of design.

Satin stitches over his mouth,
the soft embroidery of screams and blood on hands.

The stainless are never to blame, just hands
that pay to roam sex over her body.

Consumption of vital organs and bone marrow
is feast even for spiderlings under the table.

There is no husband like pleasure.

Arlene Ang lives in Venice, Italy where she edits the Italian edition of Niederngasse. Her poetry has recently appeared online in The Melic Review, Tattoo Highway, Tryst and Absinthe Literary Review. She has received a nomination from VLQ for the 2003 Pushcart Prize.