lure -

I can imagine what it feels like,
your hair in my hands,
rich and chestnut around my knuckles,
deep like this.

I like your eyes and your voice,
but to bite that lower lip,
makes me salivate.

You speak and I am thrown back to lockerrooms and sweat,
with adolescent moaning.

It is southern for me,
opening like a magnolia,
just above my teenage grasp.

Those trees were always below my window,
and over my head.

An impulsive little creature,
I made the boys
vibrate
with anticipation.

Touch their shoulders,
friendly, light, and of course,
discomforting.
This is the most obvious way
to start the chord
in them,

three notes

that will crescendo in their nights.

Impress on them how you would feel.
This kiss,
no other,
will make John move as a leaf on a branch;
has made Booker grow heavy as stone.

I am their Lot.


So let me feel your collapse,
erode
to my gentle lapping,
for I long to feel your hair in my hands,
taste the salt of your skin
as you cry.



GLS
6.11.97