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deepundergroundpoetry.com

Waiting for My Breath to Die

 
On the couch or on the bed, you say.
Soft black curls like Satan's cherub.
The beauty that springs
from between your legs.
 
I need any contact.  
You pull my red hair out from the roots,
I hear it detach,
it is pleasure.
 
Moving inside what I use  
to take in air, pushing my head down  
as long as possible. I drown  
in the verdant sea of your cologne,
 
Poseidon thrusts his wet-scaly arm  
down my windpipe. My head is
a heavy shell sinking to the ocean floor
as things in and out of me go purple.
 
But I am a fish that makes a racket,
I toss and flail, arms fluttering like wings.
Mucus and blood a music that stains  
the gold band of your ring.
 
You give me a dollar in quarters  
for the bus four streets down.  
Tonight I wait for you to call.
Hoping for anything from you.
Written by toniscales (Lost Girl)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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