Mortal
is the way I am nervous
around sharp points
and bare edges
the line of your form
the tips of your fingers
the rim of your tongue
it is the fact I know
the damage that can be done
by just the slightest slip
this shit isn't learnt
or taught
it's instinct.
This Abstinence
makes me
want to scrape
the base
of my bowel
tear out
that turning wheel
crush it
to the tightest
ball--
I see
your eyes
and want them
pressed against
my pubic bone
again
again
again
I eat
my finger ends
the nicotine
around my nails
to skin
to cuticle
to bloody mess
I need
a drink
a cig
an orifice
in any order.
2 comments:
nice stuff. very physical.
I gave up cigs, but I'd definitely like one or both of the other two! Good poem.
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