from the thighs of may-ling

from your honey

colored thighs i

climbed inside you.

you watched me

with tattooed eyes.

guided my lips to

kiss you there.

you tasted happy.

delight dripped

on my tongue.

you ignored my

deformities. is

this love one

does not speak?

am i a ghost? you

tickle my ears,

twist my nipples.

i nibble yours

like forbidden

fruit freshly picked

from our garden.

together we

masturbate our

essence. we are

vagabond art.

i have slept under

your third street

mural. we fucked

with a kerouac

fever. danced

like banshee

chickens. you

swallowed me

whole, soul and

all. i desired to

hide you from

a hard blowing

wind. you are

a masterpiece.

i’m an ugly

poet. i cannot

escape your

thighs until

my poem

is finished.

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