Friday, February 17, 2017

Busy

Come with me to a place where time is lost
And there is no longer
The deathshead hawk moth
Lodged in the throat of my lover
Coffee cups drip with ecstatic love
Percolating between my knees
A surrealist daydream when you
Can't be fucked
To answer me
Unless you're three sheets
Four, five, six bottles
And you ask me over and over
Does he make you cum?
Of a man I've yet to touch
But you think you have the answers
And you think the power is yours
You think it's up to you,
But that cold-press potion has always been
My spell
My love
My power
You kick and scream and cheat the game
What have you not done
To convince yourself
I don't own you?
I ate your last semblance of sanity for breakfast
On bread with triple cream butter and toasted coconut
And in that mundane morning of
Coffee cups and toast
You missed
the swirling galaxy between my teeth

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