February 01, 2004

Every Morning

My dreams are filled with a face
A man I've laughed with before.
His eyes stuck to his feet.
He won't go down like a rabid dog.

I long to touch his lips like water
Relieve his thirst for something
Anything. Me, maybe.
I watch his hands instead.

I want those fingers, cracked and bleeding
To soak in my lotion heart
Absorb my baby smile
Follow the turns of my trail.

I awake to a moving room.
Nothing slows even as I lay there
A rock in a desert. And I hope
he's cocooned himself in my torrid stomach.

by E. M. Soos

No comments:

Post a Comment

Useful Critiques