Tuesday, August 23, 2011

PREMOLAR



the sharp taste of blood my blood,
the pedigree that stings
that chews you up in a second
our words are
soft and whispered between meals
our hands caress the careworn soul
who picked the major route to find us
like sunken ports of call
our thighs consent
to all acceptors 
 solace the profligates
toll-free
my blood, my love, my wild one
how are you feeling today?

2 comments:

Rick Forrestal said...

Setty, my poet, I don't mind
that you bite.
I am feeling fine!
xo

Jeecko said...

ma na min einai toso kalo to engleziko mou, exw agnostes (!)