Men become boys in the cradle of my lap, comfortable
as I twist the tufted curls behind their soft ears,
and I wonder how easy it would be
to cleave them in two with a rusted fish hook.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
Men become boys in the cradle of my lap, comfortable
as I twist the tufted curls behind their soft ears,
and I wonder how easy it would be
to cleave them in two with a rusted fish hook.
Request permission to use this poem