(1) Still black slick on the roadway
seeps into a grainy tv dream
and out the licked seal of the envelope.
(2) I should have been writing for your cum shot:
(3) a doe gunned in the head by a cop;
(4) lace washed out in sweat, stinking;
(5) old meat rotted on its stick;
(6) liquid from behind the bruise
slowing your heartbeat, a cold stillness
(7) like hush after feedback; worn ballet shoes;
(8) my breast to pillow your concussion.
I always needed a man.
Forget when I said I was
(9) jerking it by the hell gates. I need
(10) to ferry your boat, to swim through the flesh.
No comments:
Post a Comment