Let's say my heart was a gourd.
I lifted it
and poured it empty
into your gaping mouth.
The way you took it from my hands,
staring me in the eyes,
this intrigued me.

The way you held it in your palms,
your gaze unwavering,
this made me smile.

The way your tongue licked the sides,
how it arched into and lapped its interior
...your hands cupped
...your grin
...your face lowered
your eyes holding me,
this made me burn.

The way your hands relaxed.
The way they fell to your hips.

The way the gourd hit the floor.
The way the gourd hit the floor.

The way the few fragments
busily rocked back and forth.

The way you blinked.


Anonymous said...

Reading this I wanted to but did not want to. Does that make sense? I think you can tell if anything is well written, if it conjures up SOME emotion. Whatever that may be.

shaun said...

Yes - that makes sense. So long as it lured you to the end.
thank you SarahA

This is another old poem of mine - from the mid 80s

shaun said...

written for Franz's class