Anna Evans 

Clandestinia

Our fucking studs the unconvincing year
like tiny diamonds in a black rock face
chipped out too soon. And afterwards my dear,
while sweat still holds us in its sweet embrace,
I fantasize a firmament for two:
a wood fire burning, perhaps a sleeping cat—
unsaid words bowling us toward I do ,
collapsing all I dos . Imagine that.

But we both know that when there is a glut
of diamonds, one turns to other stones.
That shopping lists and pots and pans cannot
replace the furtive romance of cell phones.
You are my friend, my split soul, my sex toy:
each time, your cock, the rediscovered joy.

Bachelorette Desdemona

Discusses Her Final Choice

Whatever the Network says I wasn’t
playing to the press.
Color had nothing to do with it.
From the start I was obsessed

by his passion. I’m nuts about men who cry.
I felt he could kill for love.
My dad’s not racist, but his generation
were never going to approve.

Rodriego? Harmless enough, while Cassio
counted too much on luck:
fast forward to suburban life
with a self-satisfied schmuck.

I wanted the castle, the moody lord
stalking the battlements.
Purely my choice. Iago the producer?
He had no influence.

I’m not sure me and O can last
You know how jealous men get.
Now where’s that handkerchief of his?
Those arc lights are making me sweat.