Wednesday, November 27, 2013


Ah, to be beside yourself –
bestride the glories of a brimming
love, too fresh, too unencumbered,
too ridiculously succulent
to keep your lips from licking it –

or wanting to – the shunting  
to and fro of your besotted heart
between its secret stories
and the rash audacities of flesh,
its flush, its cadences, its blooming

heat, sweet radiance of private
sweat you almost smell –
oh no, oh yes, the sweat you smell,
the tongue you’d put to it – the spell
the unimaginable possibility of hell. 


No comments: