By the end of the night
they fused in my desire.
After I'd folded the laundry
and wilted the night into my sleep,
I pulled them out from under my pillow.
But their faces had melted
into one curly shock of pubic hair
and glasses,
my strawberry blond rhapsody.
3 comments:
though i don't know what this is about, it sounds like a love poem. it reads like a love poem. i love this love poem. strawberry is such a lovely word. suddenly, i want my poems to sounds as lovely as yours have recently. these last 5 or 6 have been so succulent and sweet; and worth reading and rereading and memorizing.
Thank you so much, my audience! ;)
no, thank you--poet--for continuing to write. and what's more, for me?
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