Last night your fingers threaded
Through mine like plastic vines
In a gallery, grapes dripping like lime
Drops off of peels. "You'd better not
Leave me," you murmured, buses
Shuddering down your throat,
Passengers coughing with plastic
Coated family members. My hands
Pulled up my waistband, damp
And smudged with your lipstick,
Pursed mouth pressed to fabric.
"I won't," I answered, and you tasted
Like frosted cold before snow,
Grey scapes and city spread over tongue,
Salt and strawberry pink dotted thighs.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 3:04 PM UTC
Last night your fingers threaded
Through mine like plastic vines
In a gallery, grapes dripping like lime
Drops off of peels. "You'd better not
Leave me," you murmured, buses
Shuddering down your throat,
Passengers coughing with plastic
Coated family members. My hands
Pulled up my waistband, damp
And smudged with your lipstick,
Pursed mouth pressed to fabric.
"I won't," I answered, and you tasted
Like frosted cold before snow,
Grey scapes and city spread over tongue,
Salt and strawberry pink dotted thighs.
