Monday, July 8, 2013

Your eyes, like sweaty palms

From where I sit
eating my tofu taco, you are
intersected by power

lines and poles, strung
up, tied down, and I cop
my passions like you are

some peep show girl
who puts out for the eyes
while the hands go hungry—

glacial fetish girl,
how I long for your
saddle and the cradle

of your spine.
This is not a sex poem,
my eyes, sweaty, like palms.

No comments:

Post a Comment