Friday, August 26, 2016

Your Breast



Your Breast


perch on my lips ©
and challenge my tongue
in a swaying of saints.
That’s it!! They’re
the holly chalices of nacre
holding up your neck
refracting into upright rivers
that run high. My teeth
lose their edge.

The distance from me
to your night lips  
evolves in tablespoons.
Men and lonely women
read our story, plagiarized
our sighs and you’ve begun
to hate that so and so Gregorio.
It serves him right

for being such an asshole

No comments:

Post a Comment

Blog Archive

Followers