Trust


Please,
fuck me poem!
Ah,
flipped first verse
of liquid metaphors
in the velveteen
of my skin,

be gentle and firm
when crashing
second verse
of all symbology,
two does better than one
into
me

I'm nailing you across
lines of your third
envoy,
leaving marks on your soil,
you don't gotta worry,
I always find my way
back
to you,

morph
from adagio
to a crescendo,

make me (your) arching mistress,
the maestro of (your) rhythm,
I conduct a whole orchestra
screaming from the feet of
(your) letters
to the phrases of
(your) lips,
you uh mmhmm and huh huh me,
as if you were the author
and not the character.

I'll be the author,
you'll be the character,
I'll be the character,
you'll be the author.

And that's how
poetry is made.

2 comments:

Oli said...

poetry is sex, yes

Raffaella Ciavatta said...

HA!
You got it man hehehehe total sex! Love ittttt

 


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