a poem by Lise Whidden (2 of 2)

Lovers and Strings

If you spoke in your sleep
I'd never know.
My name in your whisper
is this vanilla ocean fantasy,
a strawberry fuck,
May with its legs spread.

If I ask about roses,
you explain camellias.
Our last give-up is a question
and our answers
are plucked like the strings
on Jerry Garcia's guitar.

© by Lise Whidden

 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #6 ~ November 2009    previous poem