Thursday, May 24, 2012

Drinking Dom Perignon on Wednesday

The first touch
was as hesitant as water
dripping from stone, feathers
pounding the space between our breath.
You shared a sliver of flesh,
offered me the film of champagne
clinging to your lips, still
cold, trembling
from a deafened grief.
As your sighs dug into the silence
of this thing we now accept as friends,
I ached
to feel your face, dying

to taste
the liquid grain of salt
crawling from your stare.
The smile melting and choking
in your mouth
was easy to consume
as it leapt into my own
and mingled with that hardened pieced of me
I haven't called a heart
in years.

No comments:

Post a Comment