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Inside the mind I stay
and watch the sunrise
against my gentle eyelids when they close
and reopen
their new day lenses.
The beanbag chairs sulk eagerly
and the tattoos on your tongue
taste like
Red Licorice.
It was easier then.
You’d send me whistling from your bed
and home
in the midnight sunshine of the stars.
Like a beast gorged on too much prey
still steaming in the snow,
I would slip into my own small bed
just as the light from your flesh burned cold.
The smell remained,
and it was this smell that would keep me satisfied
for a short while.
But then day would break once more.
And that day would bring with it a new rush, like
cavalry and stampeding avalanches
to my fingertips.
And later that night
it would be those same fingertips,
this time glazed with
the sweat and lust of your
I would graze upon you like a hungry hoard.
Chewing and licking
the vines and flowers from your mahogany landscape,
while our fingernails grew slowly together
like glaciers of bone
underneath our skins.


One response to “Licorice

  1. friendzwithwordz ⋅

    My favorite poem of Ray’s

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