Before you apologize again,
I would thank you
for a red lip drive-by, kiss and run
circles in my head,

pour your clothes on the floor,
dirt has words for thoughts like yours.
Softly kick the door and pounce for purr.
Chase me round your fingertips,
shivering back to bend and kick.
Giggle;
hold the twitch of my neck,
every bite mark and cat scratch
dug-in love handles, pick you up
squeezey bottle, pop-top buttercup,
flip sips and shift-click,
tell me how much you fucking like it,

tell me, in tongues,
that no body knows
like mine does.
paint a portait layers deep
as sin, draw me
into worlds where we continuously begin
in awkward steps and second glances,
second helpings help in serving time,
(always more where this came from.)

Endtime is meantime and we've got all year
to get lost in a few good months.

08/22/2006

Posted on 08/22/2006
Copyright © 2024 Matthew Zangen