Tuesday, 24 April 2012

bright sun and lace shad­ows
the bird bones of your back we 
trace del­i­cate tracks on a ta­ble
top a drop of wine sucked from your 
fin­ger as you speak in tongues
for me

later, i will want 
to press your shoul­ders against
those rough stone pil­lars 
swell to­gether 
a bite un­der
your jaw­line a 
taste of Malbec from 
your lips