I have a habit of kissing his palms
like I’m worshipping at the statue
of St. Joan of Arc, praying for strength.
I like kissing the inside of his elbows
to taste the hot, salty life resting
just below delicate skin. I bite him here.
Too often, I find myself kissing his neck
like Dracula going in for the **** except
I bring no death only big purple black holes.
I love kissing just below his bellybutton
to pay homage to his mother who lived connected
to him right above where I am connected to him.
My lips are always kissing his feet
like I am Mary Magdalene and he is
Christ, anointed oils spilled on the carpet.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
I have a habit of kissing his palms
like I’m worshipping at the statue
of St. Joan of Arc, praying for strength.
I like kissing the inside of his elbows
to taste the hot, salty life resting
just below delicate skin. I bite him here.
Too often, I find myself kissing his neck
like Dracula going in for the **** except
I bring no death only big purple black holes.
I love kissing just below his bellybutton
to pay homage to his mother who lived connected
to him right above where I am connected to him.
My lips are always kissing his feet
like I am Mary Magdalene and he is
Christ, anointed oils spilled on the carpet.
