Yesterday’s shirt
Still has your smell on it.
I rub myself
And my hand to my face declares
That it held your apple sex
My lips confess your taste
How can the world be so unaware that we’re lovers
When six ounces of fabric tell the whole story?
An afternoon with you and I feel my skin again
Everything glows
The scaled surface scrubbed
Pumice raw
Sand devils scuttle cross sun-blind fields
Cracked crust, thistles, bleached bone, tumbleweeds
Make the language larger
Make the hair stand up
On the back of my neck
How did the world not see me?
The biggest invisible thing in the room
Fine with it, till now
God as my witness
I will make a mighty splash
Before I jump
Jump
Out of my skin
rbb 2004 all rights reserved
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(c) 2010 Riccardo Berra/Apostrophe
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Apostrophe-Tales of Longing and Possession
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If you somehow missed Blogger's warning banner and are underage by the standards from where you view this site, please leave now and come back only when you are of age.
While the authors are committed to freedom of speech and thought, adults should be aware that this site contains literature that some people and communities find explicit and perhaps objectionable. We judge neither those people nor their standards, so your choice to read it or not is entirely your own.
The work is registered and all copyrights are held by the author. We welcome links and thoughtful, well-mannered comments. Reposting, with or without attribution, is prohibited, except with direct permission, which we'll happily consider on a case by case basis.
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