~little wife lies

diary pages smell

like stale silk sheets

a marriage of dirty, wilted petals

& a dying summer

but she enjoys the chill

of winter more

the thrill of carving lines in snow

always makes her wet

as she spins like a half-lit star

on a northern dance floor

she is an august lemon, heavy with juice

& he cums in the shape of a god

as she worships

his dark night sky

her fingers find the form of his hips

& she falls away to yesterday’s knees

unzips wanting lips

to write throaty sighs on the shadow

of his thighs

her mouth opens

to hot silk milk of his veins

pulsing against

another strange headboard

another interstate motel

her nails trail the length of him

stretching to read his punctuated skin

remembering his braille spine

as she runs her tongue over

the curve of his moon

& swallows each

secret

endless

moaning

echo

then slips away
 

his salt, still on her lips when she kisses

her husband

goodnight

lah  10.13.11 ©®