Monday, April 16, 2007

fingers like detectors, lips like old photographs

you might lose your guts
when i tell you
that you were the last.
the last hungry taste
the last sweaty embrace
the last mess of limbs and moans.
And it's not because you were there -
it's because you've always been there.

1 Comments:

Blogger LC//Lucy Fur said...

K, this is brilliant.

9:55 p.m.  

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