. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .

Wednesday, April 26, 2023

Damned Lovers w. Teacup Tits

I hear your anger too, turned venom, turned hurt
from gooseflesh to grey rock and stone
like rag weed in your suburban garden
hurricane hair carousel spinning eye of the storm
ultra-green grass lasso'd lass on the back lawn

still, so fucking stupid sexy to me
bent will, bent back
mother's gallons of golden milk
crying in your
candle cream-colored warm water bath
long neck for the noose
hung like I am late Saturday night

you do not get to own all of this pain
such a beautiful martyr you are
though you lay with dullard gods
still gods crave you
but, bitch, my eyes sting absent your visage
pale pearl riving in an oyster of my bedroom blankets
thick threaded throat of blonde fur
laying red and wet
open hungry trophy
begging rope bound knots twisting thirsty
wolven innuendo

my hands ache to grip you
whiskey whispering our favorite author's names
into the oven light
pushing under your summer dress in the dark drive
it hurts, here below my ribs
like a plunging bloody dagger deep into my chest
near to that same spot where below those
teacup tits your own broken heart lies.

TA

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