Two Poems by Steven M. Grant

SWF seeks…

She wants

to be hung

half naked

by her wrists

while he

gracefully

etches her

with his blade.

She longs

for beaded blood

and tiny streams,

to roll down

her body;

stain her skirt.

She's never

been loved

that way.

No one

has ever tried

to please her

with such artistic

understanding.

There is no he

Who would

indulge

such a need,

no one who

would let her

truly surrender


Late Fees

I watch you watch me,

over spectacle rims

near the bridge’s end.

I hear you shush me

over index cards

and collected late fees.

I want to tie you up

or hold you down

and scribble poems

on your breasts

in red fountain pen,

and let your shrieks

echo through

the Dewey stacks.

Pain is not anathema to love,

they are partners

over time, overdue.

Steven Marty Grant Steven Marty Grant is a hospitality sales professional living and working in New York City. A former journalist, musician and slacking underachiever, his poems have appeared in The Writer, Spring Harvest, The Ampersand (&) Review, The Melancholy Dane, The Flask & Pen, VVC Drama & English Literary Journal, Vivid Online Journal, Drink This Cola, and Urbanality. His first volume of poetry, Another Hotel Room, is currently languishing, unsold, at Amazon.com. Steven graduated from a school you’ve never heard of and had so many majors that even he is confused as to what his degree is in. He is married to a wonderful, patient woman and has the most perfect daughter any man could ask for.
SSF: If you could talk to any inanimate object, which would you choose?
Steven: I would have to go with the Happy Gilmore response of my golfball. I talk to it all the time but the SOB never listens!