Perhaps I will have love made to me
soon by a kiss that sloshes like sewage
and feet hung limp over the carpet:
our entrails laced in its plush, a spiral.
Mine tried so hard to reject yours –
as you sipped my pink flesh, coral hit
a very funny part of us I thought I
would bleed. But it was just me
opening, closing, opening & shutting.
The words were local: I need I need,
still enveloped an umbrella above
our pea-shaped, wintery things.
And spherical as scallops or stone,
I had mind enough to breathe in body
air, dust, slivers of your bedroom –
the corner where another love
will be warped & coiled inside of me.
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
Perhaps I will have love made to me
soon by a kiss that sloshes like sewage
and feet hung limp over the carpet:
our entrails laced in its plush, a spiral.
Mine tried so hard to reject yours –
as you sipped my pink flesh, coral hit
a very funny part of us I thought I
would bleed. But it was just me
opening, closing, opening & shutting.
The words were local: I need I need,
still enveloped an umbrella above
our pea-shaped, wintery things.
And spherical as scallops or stone,
I had mind enough to breathe in body
air, dust, slivers of your bedroom –
the corner where another love
will be warped & coiled inside of me.
