bar made

The door opened:
smoke flowing away,
music storming out,

girls smiling over undersized miniskirts,
gleaming pimples greeting
from visible wonder bras;

dancing with James' son
sipped by highly trained tongues
rolling undercover.

A hand reaches my waxed soul.
Stupefied, retreats
to caress the other lips.

The screams from the buzzer
fill my head and come out
again, of my dried mouth.

I find a hole at the end,
stuck a finger, try hard to
get in a third one.

Contorts of the body follow
the lead of my music
exploding into a wee of light;

and i grow until it hurts
so much being licked, polished
with bleached hands.




Poetry by emily chambers
Read 1207 times
Written on 2008-05-14 at 12:05

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