All forms of desire
that shouldn’t be desired
slither into her young mind.
No two thighs touching
and the sighs they breath out:
consulting. Cautious and crude
the raw flakes are dancing.
A fresh, soft bow
plunged across a clean sky.
Flowery revolts and nights spent
cleaning after her messy self
(sifting, succumbing; brain-dead, overcoming)
She can make her bed again.
But thin wrist bones
sagging, silly undertones –
and never not spoken
and baggy red eyes
and veins bleeding into each other
and a cover, covered in water
and friends who fished for prudes –
all traded for true smiles.
And only a glimpse to know.
Photo Credit: gaborlengyel Flickr via Compfight cc
