Discussion Group

I woke up and ate her words
Instead of breakfast
And hungered for ulterior motives
For shadows of lust or
Selfish Reasons; anything. Anything
but true love, my love.
Anything but committed
devotion.

I woke up and breathed regret.
All over her too short hair.
Exhaling the warmth of my soul
Like a bare naked icicle,
Fashioned,
to the insides of a child’s
Frosty palms.

Her fingers did dances
Over the canyons of my rigidly crafted spine
I never knew her so well
As in her touch, it resembles nearly
A poem that floats.
Above the blue sphere of nerves
Teases the sea to come out
To play.

Drawing out the
The nerve endings of the tide
Through a single flood pipe
And into her, through her,
She then drips love.
Out of the open pores in her arms.
Her legs.
Her nose freckles.

Rubbing with her softest, smoothest cheek, fuzzed up with satisfaction.
Against my most callous hand.
Breathing coolly down my neck;
Promises and entire future come-tos;
Sending hills of geese northward,
And expectations to the frontline.