Sally Plumb Plumb Poems

I kiss the throat
of your proud head,
dead on my feet
with pride and waiting.
...

What was love?
A wrinkled glove?
The painted nail
on fingers frail?
...

Stay, worm,
I am not yet dead....
I am dying.
...

There is a great emptiness
in my body.
It was left behind
by a lover.
...

And the music
of his sheltered
mind
emerges heaven like
...

I'd need to be a centipede
to walk down every street.
To sing with every language,
many music sheets.
...

I wake up
every morning
spread across
my bed.
...

She stitched the path
with threads of grasses
and buttoned sun
through all its passes,
...

Dark ivied wall
what do you hide?
What tiny bird
is housed inside?
...

I tipped up the glass
and drank you in sideways.
I felt like a doxy
making her pass.
...