- Erotic Poetry
- Definition: Clara
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Click herealways seven lumps
in coffee that could kill plague
and start revolutions
she laughs
at my disgusted stare
It's how they do it in Riyadh,
it's my cup, what do you care?
Who knows,
I say over the rim of my own plain black,
I just might cash in
that deep french rain check?
a melodic rumble laugh
a toss of already blond
bleached to impossibly white
a renegade drop
of black bittersweet
rolls down her chin
for a second
before swooped up and offered
glittering at the tip
of an extended index finger
it's the little things like that
that Clara only Clara only she
can magnify
Tell me now,
is this so bad?
she croons and leans closer
we sit
like that
the strangest siamese twins
in recorded history
eyes closed, breathless
in direct telepathy
fingertip
to
tongue
and then we know
those things
about one another
that not even lovers do
- COMMENTS
sassynycabout 16 years agoi love the way you call attention to seemingly mundane things. things no one lese would care about are embroidered in our memories when we care about someone.
sassynycabout 16 years agoi love the way you call attention to seemingly mundane things. things no one lese would care about are embroidered in our memories when we care about someone.
LeBrozover 16 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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WickedEvealmost 20 years agoerotic that I almost can't stand to read it. I have little goosebumps going up and down areas that I refuse to disclose.
