.::oDrew
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SECONDHAND
(the Prelude)
before i begin
myself -- smoking --
i with curious lungs
pass by the marlboro models
in conversation with the hollow air exhausting.
we stand, as outside the church
after a funeral, at the one-stop;
teeth click like jackhammers.
laboriously, when language runs thin,
we pull our fingers mouthward.
my pockets starve, empty.
i partake only as a witness
of the languid pale victim
writhing in a slow ballet
set to the requiem
of an exhale.
I.
on the second night
she bade my tongue permission
to her moist, rare mouth:
she has been used
before.
i exchange for heat
in currency
of single-finger strokes
and rehearsed whispers.
i watch her pour the wine
as i formulate the tango.
neither admits prowess on the floor
and yet we move in mindless unison.
ehh, this one probably isn't quite done. tell me how i'm doing.
< Message edited by .::oDrew -- 5/6/2010 17:36:55 >
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