It might be cold outside
But it’s warm in here
In between my two peach-fuzz breasts
Where beats my heart
Which tonight
Is pumping to excess.
Filling up the corners of my eyes with heat,
And leaving my face a ruddy red,
It is dancing an African tribal dance
That catches my bruised and bandaged toes
In rhythmic tapping.
I could run up four flights of stairs tonight,
Catapulting off the railings like
A little boy on Christmas,
Just to get to the top where
The stars might be
Just a little bit closer.
If I could fly
This is what flying might feel like—
Like the most ordinary feelings of loveliness--
Of hot blood in your ears,
And wind against your cheeks.
No comments:
Post a Comment