Cling
The reasons to be
are callous starting points;
your legs – dumpling
unrefined
kicks of chimp,
a toe in your mouth,
a taste of how far
you will have to go.
Your nuzzling
intolerant death trap
sinewy kiss
of love –
is what
but all the colours
of an argument?
You tug.
You will not let me sleep
with incessant
bickerings of your gut;
my flesh is not enough
for you to sedate,
the crammed in wants
lingering from within
another room.
There is you,
always you
grinding yourself into
this ramshackled state
of mind we call night;
delicately
you pout when
I turn the light on
as if I was the child
in your adult years.
Philipos
Fri 5th Oct 2012 17:58
Classy poem Marianne. Lots to like esp 'all colours of an argument' x