Friday, April 17, 2015

April 17


Her tongue was always dipped in glitter
and it would glint gold and apricot
when she stuck it out and wiggled it at the sunset
You look remarkably like her, you're the same age
she would have been by now, you have
the same wrinkles, the same sags, it's uncanny,
it's like she's wearing your skin, but I want to know
for sure, before I slap your ass, before
I bend you over and continue where we left off
before we were so rudely interrupted by
her metamorphosis into a box of ash.
So as soon as the sun prepares to drown itself
I'll ask you to open your mouth
and stick out your tongue
and let me see if it has
the familiar metallic sheen
of the sun sticking out its naughty tongue
back at her

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