Rough-veined and ripe to bursting flesh,
his peck in some juicy cheek at first
blush. Fingers rumple and gorge, sweet
hearts young and firm, barefoot.
June was for decay. Take only the mother
and don't step on any until you wake up
in the morning feeling like P Diddy, fruit in
clusters and rich scarlets, aphid mouths.
Ravish me. Ripeness aches to be stripped.
It burns the backs of our necks and they bleed
so let them rot in the heat.
No comments:
Post a Comment