Love and thirst are one.
Do you think I won't steal from you?
I would blithely shear your sun-kissed ringlets,
And leave you bleating bald,
Spin it all into gold and hoard it in my bowels.
I don't want love, I want you--
One rosy piece at a time.
God made me flat and dry like a worry stone,
So circle me with your thumbs.
Writhe around in a cloud of sighs
Like a child in warm sheets.
Come with tears, moist breath, water everywhere;
I am storing up for the dry season.
I dare you to turn away now, love.
You are not your own,
You were bought at a price.
-Anonymous
posted by Muskrat Love @ 5:36 PM
4 Comments:
"bleating bald?" Very nice.
But if you're going to keep this up, and I'll have to read this for 2 weeks until you put something else up, the word is "hoard." "Horde" = Mongols.
Sorry, Jefe. It was a cut-and-paste job. But now it's fixed. :) Thanks for noticing.
That has to be the best verse/prose/thing I've read in quite some time. I was so dazzled, I didn't even notice the horde of ringlets.
Wayne, of course you didn't notice the "horde", you are the one that continuously says 'these ones'. :-)
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