by Dominick McKoy

it’s that first crease in your birthday suit two-piece
and its beautiful black cherries that makes me hungry to
eat and so i breathe deep your sweet fragrance,
kissing those most blatant places with such impatience
racing to glide strands of my fingertips
across strips of pink rich soil, squeezing into its pit
deeper and deeper, while you caress the steeper
arch of my temple, i unleash the reaper
crippling ripples seducing my rhythmic rhapsody
as the juices from your schism escape its periphery
ticking me with your affectionate screams
while i’m on the verge of trickling adequate streams
drifting into a daydream, silently epileptic
while the domestic curl of your lipstick leaves me

and i’m wondering if i turn to speak,
will those beautiful black cherries turn into a brief peek
will those deep-set potions emit their hocus pocus
and retreat from my fantasy before i motion
for you to stay, play a little longer with me,
cuddle your subtle canopy against my uncertainty
dressed in that relaxed, comfortable essence
instead of those lonely, urgent evanescent dresses
or maybe it’s just me that’s feeling this sudden emergency.
maybe the feeling was too overwhelming for me to think i
can keep.

maybe if i wake up, it won’t be a dream.
maybe she’ll still be cuddled beside me.
Dominick can be contacted at:
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