Yours

Two teeth pucker up-
just a sip,
just a suck.
Two little drips drop
from a prick
and I pluck:

Your heart through your veins,
is my heart under your rein,
reign….

Desire is such a worthless word,
under this want and after this wane.

Our two sullen stares,
forward and back.
Too swollen and scared,
just a glint and a glance.

I am at a fault, a fissure, my fault.
Befitting to be fitted, fit to this fault,
my fault, il faut, il vaut, valant-
trop.

Under your tresses,
under you, trussed,
this delirious mess,
this volatile trust.

The dust of our past is the rust of our sores.
Make me!  Take me!
I’m fallen.
I’m yours.

Posted Friday, February 4th, 2011 under Poetry.

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