cornblake
bad poetrySalı, Ocak 17
...
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission
for the fuse inside her, throbbing angrily in the dirt,
for the bitch in her and the burying of her wound
for the burying of her small red wound alive
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking, for the garter belt,
for the call,the curious call when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
a.s.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission
for the fuse inside her, throbbing angrily in the dirt,
for the bitch in her and the burying of her wound
for the burying of her small red wound alive
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother's knee, for the stocking, for the garter belt,
for the call,the curious call when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
a.s.
posted by d # 17:27 
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