oh lover, please
domesticate this lonely
little ego
she’s been waiting
for your hands and
your fingers
to become
tangled in her hair
she’s been waiting
up late into
each night, aching
for your
admiration
your shimmering,
silver tongued
praise
please, take this
scantily clad poem
in all of its
vulnerable nakedness
slide it slowly across
your tongue
licking
every
last
word away
oh, sweet amylase,
this malaise
reduces her to
a complex technical
process
© 6.5.2017 heather brager
 |
| Julia Randall. |
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