he said to me,
and I put my head on his sternum.
A tight skin drum,
crepe over bones.
He had a man's hands but a boy's chest.
To say I only loved him anyway is an injustice.
He had a boy's chest with notches,
a ladder of rib and shoulder blades.
Divots and handholds,
He could be climbed.
And so I did.
I spend most of my time alone
he said to me,
and I slid my hand under his shirt.
You're a great man, I whispered onto his stomach,
a mighty oak,
my wisp of grass.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
he said to me,
and I put my head on his sternum.
A tight skin drum,
crepe over bones.
He had a man's hands but a boy's chest.
To say I only loved him anyway is an injustice.
He had a boy's chest with notches,
a ladder of rib and shoulder blades.
Divots and handholds,
He could be climbed.
And so I did.
I spend most of my time alone
he said to me,
and I slid my hand under his shirt.
You're a great man, I whispered onto his stomach,
a mighty oak,
my wisp of grass.
Request permission to use this poem