Thursday, February 09, 2006

the giver

he wouldn't kiss me because i smelled like apple
so i took him from behind
bearing my teeth to his neck and shoulder
i pulled and stretched the collar of his shirt
then reaching, i stuck my finger in his belly-button
and waited.

6 comments:

Mr. Matos said...

This poem is wanton soup.

I love it.

bearing my teeth to his neck and shoulder...

Now that's clever.

katy said...

i nearly choked reading your comment, enriko... soda and "this poem is wanton soup" is the perfect combination for "fizz-inhilation".

i'm glad you like it, i wrote it just for you, what with you asking so nicely in the comments from the previous poem and all.

arch.memory said...

Ouch! (Very good ouch.) Very Marie Howe, in a way. That making dinner and stabbing you in the stomach thing. Except very erotic. And very delicate (i.e. Katy).
(I think that is definitely your word: delicate.)

Brian Boutwell said...

Typo: smelled. I think I told you I liked it right?

katy said...

it's not a typo, it's a mistake in tense. thanks for pointing it out though, editor. and yeah, you did tell me you liked it.

katy said...

oh wrong poem with smelled, i thought i'd written smelt... actually that might have been in a draft.
will fix it. thank you again, brian.