By Jacob Hatfield
Copyright ©2025
I’m bursting at the sight of him ---
Mouthing words I never knew could be whispered so softly
Clutching --- Sweaty thighs --- Feel the habit forming ---
Biting his upper lip --- Filling with an urgency
To be shoved open and picked out
as a pomegranate seed --- I am ---
Begging for rapture tucked tight
in jeans --- Unleashing at 3 AM
Deep brown eyes I’d let dig me ---
A grave --- When he wants
--- Lip feeling phantom tugs ---
In the morning --- Where he bit me right back
About Jacob Hatfield:
Jacob Hatfield is a poet writing out of Middle Tennessee. When he's not sitting on a bench in some random park thinking about writing poetry, he's staring at the ceiling fan with his dog's head perched on his legs.
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