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