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OMG By Elisabeth Horan QuailBellMagazine.com  I ripped the shit out of my meniscus dancing drunk one slut-eyed dawn dipped my partner = crunch, it was over my experimental lesbian days,
dancing, making out to Britney... sadly, were done. so I have no knee to kneel on either plus every time I've ever knelt I've been raped from behind - metaphorically or not; others will decide this - so whatever - matters not. but your hands, aha! you've got it friend look how they can give without being held how they can quench thirst, paint faces finger neck lines feed words into mouths like mine - black ants/ red wine. Yours are soft poet hands if they were to write me they'd type: i want to love you i so want to give in to you - but i can't only love you this/this much the rest is really complicated like who is man and who is woman and who is your daddy and oh! the snails and puppy dog tails - but the hands, those hands - hold my cheeks in the night your thumbnail in my teeth my tongue in your sleeve why not just hold me this tight - for when it be like this, like Heaven, gone amiss - then why the Hell would i ever want to go to bed, or even say, good night - ? CommentsComments are closed.
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