The hottest lines - one after the other I devour
Salty - sultry - tasty - juicy sweet like a toasted flower.
The ink runs from the corners of my brain,
Oh God, have I been eating poetry again?

I made the mistake of swallowing one set of rhymes when
The librarian appeared, putting on her necklace chained
Reading glasses while looking down her nose.
Her eyeballs rolled, her head shook out her woes.

Tearing off another page with her walking toward me,
She was about to release the dogs - I had nowhere to flee.
She stomped her feet and began to weep
As I crumple the next page into a heap.

She backed away as I snarl and I bark,
Crunch, crunch, crunch - swallowing all the way to the question mark.
Finding her nerve she approaches me with a moan,
Then I watch in amazement as she tears off a page of her own.

Folding it up in the palm of her hand, she smiles
And growls and shoves the whole page in while
Pulling out another book from a hidden pocket in her dress.
We sneak off together into a hidden recess.

The hottest lines - one after the other we devour
Salty - sultry - tasty - juicy sweet like toasted flowers.
The ink runs from the corners of our brains,
Oh God, have we been eating poetry again?

With baited eyes we snarl and bark
Chomping with joy in our bookish dark.

Upon reading I stopped.
Savoring this touch.
I serached for narrative, your voice becoming my imagination.
I made this read much longer than intended.
Rereading each page minutes after the initial first.
We both paused.
Stumbling over each period.
Passage after passage the last chapter revealing just how beautiful everything is.
With neither joy or pain canceling each other out, both are necessary.
A paper cut made in haste.
Just as telling.
The intense angle each word represents.
The physical manifestation of not being able to move my eyes from the page.
Loud noises created in silence.
It seems real. Its chaos.
Four seasons coming into one.
This is life.
At least for me.
Rereading each volatile word finding vulnerability.
A sudden fear that rises.
A response that I over analyze in simplicity.
You write and I read.
A deeper motivation that isn't fear at all.
The pages collapsing in recommendation.
The intimate truth of holding everything in.
The cover hesitant of letting go.
All awaiting permission

dont listen then read
we know you wont listen to me
we really doubt you can
even read
really
really
really
doubt
you can read
your ****** bleeds
you say what is this
to me
no
it
is
not
to
me
but it is to me
it is dripping
on me
listen
your pads are on my mind
your tampons stop my nose bleeds
your scent carried me deeply
have we not explained
the dragging
of
our lips from the womb
you think your different
well your not
there
is
an
difference
when you
do more than read
all you really have to do is listen
?













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