Litkicks Message Board Archive

the moUth of my cReation

Posted to Poetry

Her body next to mine feels like a furnace
I earn less
more than She could ever make believe.
I look to like them cold and
that's clean.
I keep it on the surface
at arms distance
just out of grasp.
And then I am alone
and I reach for the warmth
to slowly take hold.
I put on Her the blindfold
tighten the ropes
peel back the mask
and see my reflection.
I burn Her body cold
to spark my inspiration
feed Her body whole
into the mouth of my creation.

michael s. ferrell
© 1999