Friday, September 05, 2003
slowing pulse
two lines in the sand,
sticks lay beside,
sweat and low breath.
saliva and mucus and the warmth
of sun upon closed eyes.
knuckle to jaw,
he tongues the skin inside
his mouth, low, slung,
pulled and bruised,
peeling wallpaper.
then all of it
photographed and bronzed,
an ever-fading red,
angles that don't match,
a phone that won't stop
sticks lay beside,
sweat and low breath.
saliva and mucus and the warmth
of sun upon closed eyes.
knuckle to jaw,
he tongues the skin inside
his mouth, low, slung,
pulled and bruised,
peeling wallpaper.
then all of it
photographed and bronzed,
an ever-fading red,
angles that don't match,
a phone that won't stop
