I polish his bones with my hands, crumple his face like sheets of soft paper. Only his ice blue eyes remain, Cracked porcelain marbles I roll in my mouth until they are petrified wood, caramel rivers of sweet, flowing through blood; and the pores of my skin open like flowers to his sun-soaked tongue.
Lovely. I'll respond with a poem I wrote:
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by Kelly Thompson
I polish his bones
with my hands,
crumple his face like
sheets of soft paper.
Only his ice blue eyes remain,
Cracked porcelain marbles
I roll in my mouth
until they are petrified wood,
caramel rivers of sweet,
flowing through blood;
and the pores of my skin
open like flowers
to his sun-soaked tongue.
Brin Equus to mind...How I wanted to play that boy...
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