nguyen1021

little pig does poetry
2003-09-04 09:39:57 (UTC)

Pounds of Rapture

Hail rapes the car roof,
breaking in rhythm with
wobbly legs that squeak
(always louder at the peak)
as we slide and
continuously slip
on one another's sweat.

The satin covers start to cascade off
the bed. A strawberry-flavored
wrap becomes unstrapped---
spilling slowly
the
drops
of
creation.

And as our heads embrace
in quiet recollection,
the tempo of car-denting
precipitation
drowns
a little,
providing gentle drums;
the count down
for our
dreams.




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