His Smile Breaks Up The Black
Who cares about the swelling in the apple
the thrumming of a finger when crimson is
a pocket on the sun, a feeling in the tongue.
Who cares about the sick days, his exploding
orange lighter, the drugs, the millions of beer
cans
in the trash.
Who cares when the world
is whirling and he's latched on to your left nipple
and all the trees are bare. Who cares.
the thrumming of a finger when crimson is
a pocket on the sun, a feeling in the tongue.
Who cares about the sick days, his exploding
orange lighter, the drugs, the millions of beer
cans
in the trash.
Who cares when the world
is whirling and he's latched on to your left nipple
and all the trees are bare. Who cares.
posted by Tasha Klein at 9:19 PM
2 Comments:
this feels like the space i'm in
sometimes with my lover. i have read all the poems on this page and have enjoyed most of them very much. i likeyour voice, good to have connected .
lynze
thanks. that's cool. :)
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