January 4, 2013 § Leave a comment

My wringing arms so tired
imagine twirls in your arms.
Bring forth my soaking drips.
Grip me and twist. Drink.
Roll me in a red blanket,
in a room, in the woods.
Toss my hips
and break in me.
A puddle
warm and sweet,
a bowl for your
tongue again.
Pushed into you so hard,
my nose began to bleed.
I taste my life against
the sweat of your skin.
Steel and salt eroding,
gnawing at the sound
of quaking strings,
gasping, “Please…
your tongue again.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading at rogerkgreen.blog.


%d bloggers like this: