when u r more than just a broiler fillet
The first time we made love I realized why
I never prayed. One human can only say
Oh God so many times.
It has been a week since I’ve been in my apartment.
I want to touch everything. I want to wash every dish
in the kitchen sink like a newborn.
I want to pull you to the floor to make love
among the ticket stubs, the bobby pins,
the evidence of living.
Some women fake their orgasms
to hear the sound of their own voices.
Ironically, it gets them off.
I, too, have written poems I wanted
to be true.
“Wilde ones, let us forgive
the bitter pill delivered
with each finger shoved down.
Forgive tasting Judas. Forgive nothing.
Here is the bed, dark like a true beginning.
We all enter the body alone
and only once.
We do not get to stay.”
When the apocalypse does come,
I will rebuild our city with my tongue.
I will suck this world’s ashes from your fingers.
I will refuse to let the fires of this hell
be the only thing that makes us sweat.
When the apocalypse comes,
so will we.
mrscyanide 
Komentēt