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Breech

Poetry & Prose | February 3, 2015

mixed up motion makes up speech

the internal boundaries are hard to breech but the external are just within reach

to grasp and clasp and stroke and

suck and suck and suck and

lucky leeching blood on our foreskins,

looking fore-ward we want in

tune with sighs and soliloquies, waiting

waiting, stills the breeze

of an evening spent in

another’s seat climbing up dangerous feet,

tickle, curdle, curl, caress

its a happy happy sensual mess of

undress

regress

readdress.

 

The morning lying in someone’s arms,

searching for your hands behind their

fingers wet with sweat.

The pheromones are not your own and your hormones

remain in rain of the thicket thrush you walked through

to find thorns on your feet, fingers

laced behind her back

bra bracing, body racing, a fast flash.

 

A night surprise, not to be surmised or

Sculpturized. Don’t sensualize,

scrutinize the other who exists in the same

name, end game of

gambling limbs and gangling grotuities.

 

Gargoyles were made with principles and purposes

and you,

you were made in the melody of droning mystery menagerie.

 

Her lingerie feels good on your twinkling toe,

Big as the moon on a haphazard night.

Graphic by Francesca Kamio.