JO (1976 / Tennessee)

Lover

my skin dissolves
on your lips

my breath sets
your skin afire

my breast melts
under your tongue

my mind turns to whispers;

desire travels my veins.

I am an arch
of a fine tuned harp

strummed for bleeding fingertips

the moon is nothing
compared to the glimmer

of the sweat on my back

boiling into grains
of tiny, delicious rocks

retreating in the palm
of your hand
that owns me.

by Joyelle Osburn

Other poems of OSBURN (12)

Comments (1)

'retreating in the palm of your hand that owns me.' perfect finish to a beautiful piece.