Fine Kiss Poem by Phillip Erb
Fine Kiss
Rating: ★4.0
It never takes long for the cold to
Become frozen to the marrow;
All the cotton, nylon, wool,
Hair and skin we meticulously
Hang from our limestone bones
Of course, she denies it
But if I know, then surely
Way, way down inside
She does, too.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Topic(s) of this poem: hair
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8/26/2026 8:01:42 PM # rel_20260826T082754Z_99b456e
