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A Passionate Kisser/Drosophilidae

Poetry & Prose | March 4, 2013

Endentated like the fruit flies. They suckle on pink lemonade.
(Harder) Young tits is her nickname, the fruit flies call her by.
The fruit flies want thick
hips means fecund and fecund means fruit flies.
The fruit flies just want something juicy, dripping, something to squeeze.
They will circulate lazily on their fruit fly trips
to peak down her shirt. These fruit flies
pretend to be Hieronymus Bosch prints. The fruit flies love sweet skin.
The fruit flies love knowing.
Love not knowing if the room’s a kaleidoscope. But these fruit flies
don’t question if the fruit fly’s wings spoon her too tight
or too perfect. The fruit flies are brothers
and all fruit flies want an orgy for one another
because then they’d be in a garden of fruit, full of flies
laughing and squinting at one another’s forgotten fruit fly shit.

The fruit flies smell like body parts, dense and expired.
The fruit flies killed the plant in the corner.
Hard cores lie with the fruit flies.