your skin parts like butter beneath my palms/and my skull becomes spongey and gentle-massed/soaking up the swells of your chest with every passing tide in your breath/ i am soft fingered/soft eyed/cracking my brain open as an egg would and/spreading my love out on the floor like/ white cream, and ginger/ until the clay of the earth is spicy with the/ shape and flavor of my veins
YOU ARE READING
tyrants
Poetrythe kind of love i've been dreaming of 2018 - 2023 #29 in poetry, 2nd april 2023 #56 in prose, 23rd may 2019 #16 in non fiction, 6th april 2023
