The Bosporus Star

CLINT EASTWOOD'S GIRL- A Salvation Dream
by Nathalia Blanca Perozo

I imagine jumping out my window
and cut holes into my knit sweater
to enable an off the shoulder smile
where Clint Eastwood would love me

under a cold, pressing harness
the feeling of a bed
strapped to a motor,
appeals to the iron slouched on his hips.

I’m a horse adorned with wire wreaths
that face in his direction,
tribes from my body
that yearn to ride his stubble.

I rub against the fabric on the walls
sensing death
as my necklace bangs against his chest,
strings of our extracted teeth encased in glass.

Newcomers arrive with demands, he says
undoing my blouse with the flick of a thumb,
his chestnut hair swallows my hands
with the precision of a skilled Californian handler.