Saturday, 10 September 2016

Longing | JK Anowe

                                 (I)

                        it is beginning
                             and all
                      but your tongue
                          harnessed
                         to my tongue
                         like stallions
                           to chariots
                              of troy
                              is void

                              all but
                    rippling silhouettes
                        aloft the ankles
                             of God
                             in dark
                      formless waters
                      calling out to us

                          spreading
                          like poison
                    the budding nectar
                          shrouding
                         your tongue

                         ever sonant
                      as melting butter
                             lurking
                        in the petals
                    behind your thong

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