by Steven Kenworthy

i comb your stomach with my fingernails
like the sand of a rosemary spice beach.

i float into your neck a torn battleship
and whisper you down in apple skin braille.
the wet sky in your throat is warm molasses.

back scratch kites whoosh into your bouquet storm of
melted I'm ready for all of the above,
the correct answers tucked carefully away behind your grooved scapula.

your bright violin mouth
feels the way birthday cake rain tastes

the perfume shore
you say that the best medicine is hidden in the verse of burning muscles,
weaved into the lining of your vanilla frosting skeleton,
i am the midnight pharmacist.

we tremble against each other in the gentle lungs of cotton.


Author's Note: first original poem in almost a year...yikes

Posted on 03/20/2013
Copyright © 2023 Steven Kenworthy

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by A. Paige White on 03/21/13 at 12:01 AM

***sigh***this makes me want to stretch***sigh*** I love it. It's wonderful to have you back again. I want to just roll around in it. *MUAH*

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/21/13 at 09:39 PM

Wow! I agree with Paige. This is refreshingly different and original. As fresh and crisp as brand new cotton sheets.

Posted by Megan Guimbellot on 03/23/13 at 09:48 PM

As always this is gorgeous. You can go away forever and come back without missing a beat. Delicious.

Posted by Colleen Sperry on 03/24/13 at 12:47 AM


Posted by Sarah Wolf on 03/25/13 at 06:39 PM

This is worthy of you! Love it.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/27/13 at 12:37 AM

I'll take an extra helping of this! Good to know you are back and writing.

Posted by Angela Stevens on 04/14/13 at 01:24 PM

I get lost in your imagery but in a good way!

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