Poetry Corner - May 8, 2014

By Alexa DiSalvo

Limbs flailing featherless
Floating high
Layer nine of cloud components
Tickles and itches afterward
like fine fiberglass insulation
Rubbing raw – our smoky flesh

Star-spiked sea urchins pop under pupils
every time I look at you
Voice buzzes, touch rips, all a haze
in the blaze of your presence
Tripping over thoughts of you

Tethered to and drawn
like runaway powder moths
to sketchy fire pits
Burnt out and baked
Thirsty and rapturous as an addict
for the hit

Please, baby
Crush, blitz, junk, waste
Say the words
Throw the stone.

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