sure, yes, it needs work
but at least looks better than it did back in february.
real poetry coming soon, promise.
You got hips that’ll make me fall for you like
Astor Piazzolla fell for Argentina.
Your mind’s an easily distracted bear trap
and your pussy’s a compass
to the probing equator of my tongue.
Your eyes are so brown you melt me from
balls to ankles, then back up
again, into my neck.
I could make a little loveseat of you.
I will rip the summer out of the sky
and paint it on your inner lips like
a boiling distortion.
Tonight I’m a snowman burning
in your doorway.
Tonight I’m the engine kissing
into the pavement because
someone in the cab said the road knew your name.
Honey, I will lick every drop of prickle-sweat off your thighs,
close my lips whole around the wet chili pepper of your cunt, saving
the red explosion of your clit, I will
open mountains cold mouths with fingertips
I will close down
the sunset, steal it back
for your smile, I will
totally do that thing…
with the grapefruit…
and the Miner’s cap.
Yeah, I’ll do that for you.
I will pounce on you
in the hallway,
drag you like a Tango
onto a bed that will pin us
to it with kisses,
and we will fuck until time closes
his windows,
hangs his hat by the bar,
and passes out in a pool of his own hair.
Tonight, I put my hand to your collarbone
like myrrh, and kiss forever down your body
to pull the Puerto Rico
south from your smile.
Girl, let me between your thighs and I will make you come so hard the moon will blush.
We’ll split the floor beams with the flex
in our backs. Glass tables in the neighbors’ living room will
flinch and fall on their sides. Every dog in fifty feet
of my second floor room will stop barking. Everyone’s
TV in this building will burn the tiniest bit brighter
and the dialogue on every hip sitcom will suddenly become
funny.
I want your tongue rolling
on my neck like garlic
on a bed of olive
oil in the skillet.
Your breasts under my
finger tips like fresh avocados,
I will trace down from your lips
to your chili and all of Latin
America will know your name.
Shall we then, to the making sex?
real poetry coming soon, promise.
You got hips that’ll make me fall for you like
Astor Piazzolla fell for Argentina.
Your mind’s an easily distracted bear trap
and your pussy’s a compass
to the probing equator of my tongue.
Your eyes are so brown you melt me from
balls to ankles, then back up
again, into my neck.
I could make a little loveseat of you.
I will rip the summer out of the sky
and paint it on your inner lips like
a boiling distortion.
Tonight I’m a snowman burning
in your doorway.
Tonight I’m the engine kissing
into the pavement because
someone in the cab said the road knew your name.
Honey, I will lick every drop of prickle-sweat off your thighs,
close my lips whole around the wet chili pepper of your cunt, saving
the red explosion of your clit, I will
open mountains cold mouths with fingertips
I will close down
the sunset, steal it back
for your smile, I will
totally do that thing…
with the grapefruit…
and the Miner’s cap.
Yeah, I’ll do that for you.
I will pounce on you
in the hallway,
drag you like a Tango
onto a bed that will pin us
to it with kisses,
and we will fuck until time closes
his windows,
hangs his hat by the bar,
and passes out in a pool of his own hair.
Tonight, I put my hand to your collarbone
like myrrh, and kiss forever down your body
to pull the Puerto Rico
south from your smile.
Girl, let me between your thighs and I will make you come so hard the moon will blush.
We’ll split the floor beams with the flex
in our backs. Glass tables in the neighbors’ living room will
flinch and fall on their sides. Every dog in fifty feet
of my second floor room will stop barking. Everyone’s
TV in this building will burn the tiniest bit brighter
and the dialogue on every hip sitcom will suddenly become
funny.
I want your tongue rolling
on my neck like garlic
on a bed of olive
oil in the skillet.
Your breasts under my
finger tips like fresh avocados,
I will trace down from your lips
to your chili and all of Latin
America will know your name.
Shall we then, to the making sex?