I'm pulling up handfuls of grass, piling them on the crook of your knee
The honeyed light leaves long streaks across our thighs
Patchworked with the grave green of fading bruises
Here sitting in the mercurial softness that exists between us
Soft and whispery, trailing our edges light as a feather
I feel that there is something hungry in the air today
this stretch of wanting-ness aching in the back of my canines
The desire to consume or perhaps to be consumed
I want to swallow this moment whole
To let it take root in the collum of my throat
Blossoming sickly sweet in the pit of my stomach
YOU ARE READING
a pebble in a pretty girl's pocket
PoetryThinking well means looking beyond what is simply there, in a direction aimed at change.
