poor baby's first words
'rape me back into my skin'
in rusting wet dreams
hinges long grind dry
from your gentle persuasion,
my sparrow legs lurch-
throat open in chorus.
i like when you take the lead,
when you force out birdsong
from my eager lips
slow drops the sap of my tongue
my craving's lustre
a prayer, a groove soaked
into the tempt of your flesh.
I watch it unfurl.
YOU ARE READING
weeds.
Poetrysometimes you need to return to the soil to feel the triumph of what once grew.
