Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Sometimes the Words Just Come Out...

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Strangers at the Crosswalk

Love laced itself
around her ankles:
a face-fall.
She turned her cheek
from the call of his hands,
while inside her head
she misplaced the
ghost of herself
inside his pocket;
he walked her spirit
across the city.
Her fingers lingered
against his hand-grasp,
a lie her body told;
still she let go
when what she wanted
most was to smear
the breath of her flesh
across his skin,
a private kind of cologne.
The mind is a fool
to detest such pleasure,
deny the attraction
of mortal sin
when life is so short.
Maybe next time she'll relent.
Perhaps when they meet
at the center crosswalk
of the city on the eve
of some festivity,
she'll be giddy of champagne
and smelling of lust.
And, senses piqued,
he'll push his heart
into her mouth like
a spoonful of
confectionery sugar;
she'll slide her soul
down his throat,
via a string,
for safe-keeping.

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