To my French Press:
Your perfume wakes me
The scent of Earth Mother's wrist
Sensuous teasing
Gritty, oily crust
Primordial ooze, seep down
Infuse my morning
Black electric jolt
Runs through my veins, will push me
Right off of a cliff
To greet the sunshine
Morning breeze and chirping birds
Oh I want to fly
0 comments:
Post a Comment