i hate the way you're always
drumming on your lap
making some unsteady rhythm under your hands

the curve of your lip is formed like a heart
that's been stretched or pulled
and i think:
i could sleep in that mouth
(warm and tender)
and wrap myself in your tongue
(lush and promising)
and mornings i'd wake up
and twist it in knots so you could not say
that you don't like the taste of me

did you know a powerful glance can speak?
oh, and did you know that i still miss you?
i'll watch the grace of your curls - amongst your other graceful features
and wait for you to hear me
but it is only the sound of
drumming on your lap,
the sound of palm meeting thigh

06/15/2004

Posted on 06/16/2004
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