Issue |
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March |
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a poem by Jennifer Hollie Bowles
Close
Pet my head, I'll be your pet,
bat my eyes, stroke your dick
until your eyes bleed with want.
I'll take my time to give in, slow
thunderstorms, drops of rain
falling on your back, my nipples
like lone assassins. I'll open my
eyes up, really open them, bare
it all out, so you can siphon in--
I'll suck it till you're dry, fuck it
till it's raw, pose when you're
looking and pretend that I'm not.
Make me feel safe here with you--
because safety isn't my bag.
It's the chaos that glows, turns
my muse red. In the end,
you'll profess everything
just so I can leave you.
bat my eyes, stroke your dick
until your eyes bleed with want.
thunderstorms, drops of rain
falling on your back, my nipples
eyes up, really open them, bare
it all out, so you can siphon in--
till it's raw, pose when you're
looking and pretend that I'm not.
because safety isn't my bag.
It's the chaos that glows, turns
you'll profess everything
just so I can leave you.