Angelique_08's profile

Always ready See the C-130 shuffle See soldiers filed in Crammed and jammed In their sardine can As far back as they can Space savers sparing no inches Life savers dissolving in vodka Getting friendly with neighbors Hanged in efficient hammocks Strapped in orange net seats Orange earplugs plugged in Songs unplugged with lip synching Discipline with a capital D See them squirm in their seats And swallow the worm Wriggling ten heavy hours With Kevlars and flak vests Like Mexican beans Jumping o...

The buzz of one conjugal visit For one prison-striped lover. Waxy lips splay obscenely open, bare petal skin invites you in, one flick of fleshy tongue sucks you into her stealing spot, her hollow tomb. The swollen tip of powdered gold, hidden under hood, anther-capped, thrust up and held, column erect. Drawn into the honeycomb fold- you get your fix, your flower fuck, filled her up till she spat you back. After the expulsion, the final plunge, your shiny coat saturated with musk, richly cov...

We should have started sooner, should have made plans- brought blankets to sit on, or at least an old newspaper. A holy quest for dinner was not enough to make us stand in line half a block outside Pizza Express. So we ordered panini’s and bought white wine from the drug store, drank it down cross-legged watching the traffic of people merge, a moving mass of holding hands and coattails. Two men climbed up a young sapling, one sang while the other drummed, crowd swaying like seaweed in a curre...

What winds brought these words? Filing out and armed to the teeth- sharp knives that shred meaning, carve consonants to reveal the vowels. Silence cubed in an ice tray breaks with a loud crack! Tongue lashes them raw- sunders sounds apart. Escaping groans run out the dungeon mouth. Some words linger still, caught back in the throat or hanging mid-air in mist, then cooling- dew on a grass blade sliding down the throat. Some words are fleeting; hasty sentiment flung toward the sun, wings burnt ...

Someone, or another, or her naturally, I conceived it was you crawling beneath the frosted hedgerow. Skin and bones, a pregnant calico named Picasso, brought me three mice and ate each graciously I denied the living sacrifice. She, at dawn before the birth, leaves our hands open and wanting the hum of fur between fingers feeling their way upward toward another expectant Spring.