Monday, July 6, 2015

revi'ered

She's right, I suppose 
about the five week famine - 
I admit I've found liberties
having my skin all to myself
satiated by possibility
instead of craving what's before me 

so I've three more weeks'
untouching, lest I turn inside out 
from needing
to be turned
outside in 

three more weeks swallowing my own mouthfuls
inhaling my own air
pawing at my own pillows, instead of
devouring some other
I'll feast on carefully arranged bodies
who are writhing with another ecstasy 
and looking ferocious for it 

my only children are my unspoken words
and my favourite lover
the note that they were born from  

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