Written by John Tustin
My body smells like your body;
My fingers like your thick wet hair.
We slowly tore into each other
Only hours ago, our mouths sore,
Our bodies arching then supine.
Your mouth shattered me,
Your mouth emptied me,
Your tongue a hot circle of light
I get into this bed that groans
And maybe it’s night
And maybe it’s day
And the bedsheets are a pall
Of unreasonable sadness
Because soon, too soon
Will smell like my body again.
Read more about John Tustin and visit his site @ fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry