-A Love Poem-

Think about your armpits. Now stop. Why did I say that? Now there are hairy damps. Finger vices. Bristling. Like a car accident. The shatter. Squirm metal, and now we turn. Just above your elbow a cockroach. Everyone slows because viscera slices are neckworthy. We can puncture. Or fold what skin should flatten. And don’t mention toes. Now, we need to talk. It’s about you, I mean, it’s about protruding. I didn’t mean to laugh. But under the wax paper, just where your tail bone rubs; there is prowess. Someone hangs pimples in their living room just above a black leather recliner. When the sun hits it, your ankles move. 00 Be the 1st to vote.Share...