deepundergroundpoetry.com

Fucking turnips

Thinking about the sun
made me think about you.  

Which is sort of silly to say
because everything,
except maybe turnips
makes me think about you,
and that's only because I never
asked if you hate turnips...

and now...

(fuck)

(just fuck)

Now, even turnips make my eyes fade out,
and my hand shake
while my tongue
moistens my lips
in subliminal
self
emulation.

(This is why I need to fuck
as soon as you walk in the room.)

This is why I'll never remember to
ask you about turnips.




Written by Betty
Published
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