17
There are echoes
Faint traces
I swear
I just saw the curve
Of her breast
In the smoke
Leaving my lips
Still kissing.
Skin is memory
Rumpled bedclothes
Her hair
Woven into my beard
Tapestry tangled
She tasted of apples
So in autumn
Every juicy bite
Becomes the apex
Of her thighs.
Phonographic memory
Her voice is
On my FM dial
Grooves cut vinyl
Every single fucking song
Her the needle
Playing my spine
Melody architecture
Spinning Escher staircases
Right round baby
Back to a girl
In my room
Wearing nothing but sunlight.
June 20, 2014 at 11:08 am
this one’s lyrical – serpentine
July 1, 2014 at 5:35 pm
waved the maple leaf today in your honour
here’s a tiny firework too … BANG
July 24, 2015 at 11:17 pm
Awesome