Looking out from the kitchen window,
down on the street where cops collect,
mischievous, bad tempered boys; gas
perfume seasons my right wrist,
as I light the burner, holding the long match
down inside.
And I walk to the grocery store
down the street, up the hill; buy
a bag, and a bundle. Throw it
over my shoulder, and carry it home.
To cook. And clean. And wash up.
And lay in bed, alone--
Burning with desire.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PuisiPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
