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RMatheson
Poems
Jun 2013
*** Null
Skin the color of fleshy burnt sienna
as if someone took the areola's border,
sewed it on the armpits
can't close eyes tight enough to cleanse the memory of
your face from my thoughts
regurgitating in endless loops of hula hoop champions.
I can't stop the dream –
(woman who looks eighteen, lips colored same as the pastel cheeks)
watching hot pink
bob bobbing.
Stupid ****:
if I'm raising armies to invade you with,
I clearly want you still.
Written by
RMatheson
Beating tired bones
(Beating tired bones)
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