roulette
Posted to Action Poetry
by sasha on 2003-02-26 10:48:00
it's russia
he says
taking me down south
of the stairwell
trying to taste
my tonsils.
our tongues are bullets
making noise
in the red caverns
of our throats.
it isn't pleasant
to be thirsy
for something.
dark eyes split open;
we play word games
with taste buds
and silence.
