Is It Poetry

(1958 - / Bus-Boys And Poets, Washington D.C.)

love.me..in..your...crust


Lazy pillows searching for my head
your hands would hold instead
my soul be bold.
Folding comfort rising waves of
pain the pleasure pauses legs
when they grow cramped.
Blowing rain the windows open sheets
with bodies rolling to unfold the
scented breath of salt
it says.
Dripping water gathers power splashing
cleaning showers none today
it washes all away.

Submitted: Sunday, March 22, 2009
Edited: Thursday, March 26, 2009

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