Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
The way he blows the smoke out his eyelids slightly lowering I know he wants me I touch my finger to the rim of the glass tell another lie There’s a way people draw things out of you in strange places veils lift change find new faces All night he’s watched me behind a screen of smoke And then the temperature reached one-hundred-and-ten, I say so I just rappelled the rest of the way down naked I look at him lick the salt on my finger Surprise crosses my face not salt but pomegranate sugar sweet the color of blood He pulls my hand to his lips his tongue a thick slug of suction compressing my finger to the roof of his mouth Teeth graze my knuckle For several seconds my eyes can’t rotate
0
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
The Color of Blood
The way he blows the smoke out his eyelids slightly lowering I know he wants me I touch my finger to the rim of the glass tell another lie There’s a way people draw things out of you in strange places veils lift change find new faces All night he’s watched me behind a screen of smoke And then the temperature reached one-hundred-and-ten, I say so I just rappelled the rest of the way down naked I look at him lick the salt on my finger Surprise crosses my face not salt but pomegranate sugar sweet the color of blood He pulls my hand to his lips his tongue a thick slug of suction compressing my finger to the roof of his mouth Teeth graze my knuckle For several seconds my eyes can’t rotate
margrethe-h-k
Written by
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem