Elisabeth Sennitt Clough

after him, i just want to own myself again
but some days i imagine his residue
casually lolling about inside me
daubed on my cervix like ghost slime
every vagina he touched is probably googling its future self –
fanny fix, genital aesthetic surgery, labiaplasty, cosmetic gynaecology
gucci cucci. my friend kim laughs
how i’d have to save for eighteen months just to be scraped
i should ask him to pay for it
just a little re-texturising
kim says her ex told her she was too fleshy
like skate wings – as if
male genitals should be large and prominent and female genitals as lack
no one wants chopped liver between her legs, he told her, you need to

offer it up smooth

oyster on the half-shell, kim and i call our cunts posh names
pudendum, she says, that high falutin’ word comes from the latin for

shame

quim, i say, my gran said it with such gusto she made it sound like a

restorative drink

reject all who tell you the new vag is just the same old pussy having shed

its winter coat

sphynx vs angora because all men want in life is a bald kitty
tautness is the hymen re-attached option with botox as an additional

extra, a brochure reads

upstream from the beaver family then, i say
victoria, kim gives her imaginary new vag a name
when i’m out with victoria, i’ll feel like the queen of sheba
xerical references are not ideal, we laugh

you ever wonder what’d happen if we stopped looking at

ourselves through a man’s mirror? kim asks

zero men, their mirrors, their cum shifting inside us like plankton