Yellow Card

my mouth tastes the salinic teardrops
from your brutal mouth: the way your teeth
sink deeply into the sourness of my sex—
here's the light that Christ and Buddha both lit
the specks of sweat in your hair, the moonlight takes it in
so the Man on the Moon can have a drink
with his dinner. we are his entertainment,
as he watches your body thrash into mine
and watch my limp frame simply lay.
remember the simplicity of my affection:
remember the deadly wounds left by the blade
of your sharp tongue. let the marriage of our figures
replace that which you have left soiled
like the way you left my sheets in the dark of night.

No comments:

Post a Comment