ADDICTED.

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He kisses my throat, forming prayers 
and I taste T. S. Eliot

his eyes teach the torches how to burn bright
and I taste Shakespeare

his ear takes new strange shapes from my tongue
and I taste John Donne

his heavy thumbs rest on my upturned sparrows
and I taste Leonard Cohen

he sheds my clothing till I’m slim with deceit
and I taste Carol Ann Duffy

his hands say I’m lovely, moving somnambulent
and I taste Seamus Heaney

he leans with love, reaching: white heat, a green river
and I taste Derek Walcott

he undoes all the knots, fingers like blind birds
and I taste Tracy K. Smith

He lifts me to heaven, waiting, listening
and I taste William Carlos Williams

he’s swimming in for the kill, almond-white
and I taste Ezra Pound

he bears me down adoring, like letting in light
and I taste Kay Ryan

we’re flying on ephemeral ions, writhing 
and I taste impatience (…I should be writing!).

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5 thoughts on “ADDICTED.

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