it is not that i am cattle to be eaten
not that i am Mary to be worshiped
but your hands crossed me like
some sort of architect
after the blue print complete
you rolled my hands back and turned the key
divine inspiration is not to be locked away
for keeping and spending
the very sight of my thigh
lay still as a gold piece
my mind got stretched over my skin
somehow leaving something between
my shoulders uneven and awkward
my sex will be transfixed .
No comments:
Post a Comment