CPR
3 October, 2005
kissing you just now --the long autumn sun
fingering through your lashes
and the hush of your last breath
before you lean upward,
the shadows making mad dashes
into your eyebrows --
I thought of that fat kid
with the wet, rubbery belly
and the lessons in cardio pulmonary resuscitation
at poolside when I was eleven --
except that
your lips aren't blue and
I like you more and
I let you stick it in me.
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2 comments:
In the above three poems, there seems to be a recurring theme of fingers. Wonder why? I liked the end - brings the reader to immediacy.
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