Do You Smell Smoke?

I would have thought that a blow torch
Was what one would need to get my
Blood to boil.  There isn't much heat
In these bones anymore, but you've
Come with your feathers, your spike
Heels and nonsense, a bottle of cognac,
And some sort of perfume which hits
Me like napalm, and, since I am sweating,
Drawing the curtains and dropping my
Drawers, I can't help but conclude
That you've turned on a burner,
And my blood's beginning to boil.





Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 31 times
Written on 2023-01-20 at 21:59

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