Friday, March 22, 2013

2am Latte (A Poem)





Nothing else tastes good
Since I met you,
No other delicacy fits
The curve of my tongue
The way the contour
Of all your shape shifts
into even the animal parts of me.
The fold of your bottom lip,
The tip of your tongue,
The thighs of my midnight eye
That rolls across you
Like a serpents tongue,
The feral lap of my bones
That dip the caves of their stars
Into the galaxy of your open
Mouth, the void
Of your watchful right iris.
You are the taste of latte at 2am,
And my two dollars well spent,
The quick-flowing highway
And gas station road stops
That litter the wheels and kisses
Of all our cheek-stroked late nights.
We speed across each other
And into the air like
Invisible rockets or windblown kisses
Until the clock hands push our breaths
Into exhales too labored
For a sleep so deep,
And dreams that can no longer
Touch the honey-dewed lips
Of our awakening.

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