Sunday, February 18, 2018


There’s porn in your raw curves, the mere renderings of loose teeth,
all double entendres 
pooling at the crease of your cunt. Mother,
it’s not getting any tighter these days, the gut is 
leaflets of papyri & suffer---&
  you’re a wild gal
with your suggestively raunchy glance.

How many of you are you nakedly? How many of you
from the gutters emerge like a silk-
drenched pearl
from a beggar’s mouth? He’s seafaring, gone
every six months, but still 
manages to stare back
at you with fishy eyes. Loose slickers & a bit of scurvy on the lips.
You’re a little bit of a rash if you know it. Good for you, or bad
depending on the weather. 
Nothing can reshape your mouth
to do better than a noose—all up in it, tight-lipped.

Dew is a mercy of the morning! Scarlet wet with blazing intentions.
 A buxom bold. A hold of 
ecstatic tongues—you come scourged
& sweet on the gums. I fashion you into my skin like a salve 
as you divulge
the deepest secrets, claim the locusts swallowed
your lover’s bones as you fished 
your rippled face out of a river.
You say you were l’inconnue de la Seine in your past life.
jawbone the shape of a cliff, as you waited for Him
to harness your endless body.

No comments: