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glen-brunsonPoems
In my smoldering ash-head there is a shadow of a prayer shaped like his shoulders; outlined lips silhouetted against the sacred space between your one wing and the ground. he smells like coffee. like your home, so silent the half-twilight finds you fully opened. gasping hard. he slips your hand hard on hip, a crushed mist on softened skin everything is basking in your warm rolling thunder every wet breath is pressed with the seal of your lip you perch in my owl eyes, back-bashed through the rafters he fills you like my empty beak could not. I am rat spine pellet, a meat wrapped skeleton chewing itself to nothing.
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Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
Taken Your Heartbeat and Burned It
In my smoldering ash-head there is a shadow of a prayer shaped like his shoulders; outlined lips silhouetted against the sacred space between your one wing and the ground. he smells like coffee. like your home, so silent the half-twilight finds you fully opened. gasping hard. he slips your hand hard on hip, a crushed mist on softened skin everything is basking in your warm rolling thunder every wet breath is pressed with the seal of your lip you perch in my owl eyes, back-bashed through the rafters he fills you like my empty beak could not. I am rat spine pellet, a meat wrapped skeleton chewing itself to nothing.
glen-brunson
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glen-brunson
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 9:05 AM UTC
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