Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Poem #37 of 365

a hotbed of pulsing palms.
a refrigerator of cool kisses:
there is no predicting our coital climate
in this universe of body smother.

and if well-versed in anecdote
you must be, then i will
listen to your stories in the dark
as you whisper in every orifice,
so many portals to my heart.

i hum in relaxed overtones,
vibrating in my rudder
as the colors behind my eyelids
melt into the beginning of time.

every caress makes me feel purple
and when you squeeze,
an explosion of sparks liquefies
this body with nocturnal narratives.

leave no flesh untouched while my hair
climbs your chest and shoulders
as a vine, and the forgotten sheets
twist in braids hot as challah.

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez

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