rise and flow, reach out and billow —
the caress of star-bedecked cheeks, of
coffee-skins resplendent with flavors
of earth, slings, of two-days old sweat,
encounter the mirth of every golden
brow – never else would be any but
for a poem lovely as a full-throated
ease of a desire – the divine delights
of souls quivering to the lip-service
of lust, one-two-inches deep – glassy
wounds – eager, ephemeral feelings
rising, flowing, deluging, dazzling –
.
Image source: Getting Rid of My Desire by Brooke David
For With Real Toads’ Micro Poetry
RIP, Queen of Soul
