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Spicy Wontons

Poems

Judy Ponceby  Jan 2011
W
Judy Ponceby Jan 2011
W
Wontons.

Wanting wontons.

Wantonly wanting wontons.

Wantonly wanting.

Wantonly.
brooke  Mar 2016
Crab Wontons.
brooke Mar 2016
maybe i got caught up in that rustic
devil-may-care way that you leaned
on any counter, how the hot oil from
your grandmother's pans shot up and
flecked across the posterior of your
hand and you didn't even flinch, just
sort of sighed through your teeth
and how I spent the few seconds after
that wishing I could press myself against
your back because you are so solid.
But I digress, because I've learned that
idolizing people is a mess of self-inflicted
palsies

Nevertheless, my affinity for compounding
problems manifests in my lack of willpower,
in your forearms that are like thick bristlecone pine
branches, dry and scarred with your
obstinance--

and when you would go to wash your
hands, you'd roll your sleeves in
this rough, intensely **** manner
with your hip pushed up against
the lip of my sink, working the
dirt out of your knuckles.
So as you kneaded your fingers
back and forth; your Venke's
pulsing, I found myself to
be too hungry for you,
for this

I've never been around so much
man,  so much cord and bark
i've never touched a person and
not felt like I was going to slip
through them like some spectral
being, like their spine would
give way before they bend in
two around my palm, barely
grounded by their own
body weight.
The difference is (was?) that
you feel so full, so stalwart
and



(I got to thinking; maybe I wasn't ready.
Because for all your worth, all your
redeemable qualities, I'd cashed in on
the way you made me feel when
I hadn't for so long and that's not
the way I want to,
Not the way I
Want to
Not the
Way )
and we are

(c) Brooke Otto 2016

i wanted to leave this in my drafts but here it is.

written to Death Row by Jimi Charles Moody, definitely sets the mood if you're interested.
michelle reicks Aug 2011
this large empty bed seems like
a c r e s wide     without you here in it.
I want to hear you laugh
and taste cream cheese wontons
on your tongue.
and when we wake up, you will smell musty and sour
like our tent of *******
always smelled

         I want to hear the funny nose whistle you make
I need to clutch at your
chest and gasp

                                              beg you
                                                   for release



but for now i will lay
naked, alone
in my football field nest of pillows

and dream, sleeplessly
of your sweaty brow