| poetry_in_june | ||
| ClairE |
Exquisite. Good smile, even teeth. No marks to mar her cheeks. Those hips and that smooth leg. My dear, you overwhelm. --I still say obsession has nothing to do with sex. Yet the mind does take over, at night, and concocts its own stories. body pressed against hips, against legs. Inside is your golden tongue, but those lips must be soft. 990606 |
031027 |
| ... | ||
| Anne Sexton |
Dear friend, please do not think that I visualize guitars playing or my father arching his bone. I do not even expect my mother's mouth. I know that I have died before— once in November, once in June. How strange to choose June again, so concrete with its green breasts and bellies. Of course guitars will not play! The snakes will certainly not notice. New_York_City will not mind. At night the bats will beat on the trees, knowing it all, seeing what they sensed all day. |
031028 |