Muscular Wrist
condensation
on our small windows
my thumbs (on you are)
sudden sugared syrup
these breasts weird as witches
steamed bra,
old contraption
of leather and spit
how you smell of the saints
and their mistakes
how you reek of injustice
against singing insects
nipples sting like bedbugs
like the dark eyes of drowned angels
silver skin, feathered with the hair
of pale cows,
coated with sweat
like weasel piss and milk
your toes architectural
little firm boxes, all in a row,
each a perfect snail shell
each
the size
of a coin
in my mouth
O I could die from you
Beautiful words
ReplyDeleteThank you!
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