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She is slow
all lavender glow
in opium thoughts, alone.

Enchanting miss
hushed movements slip
lost neon hippy good time trip.

Silhouette spins
as the dancer begins
her caterpillar squeeze.

I’m scavenger young
with delicate tongue
ask watermelon please.

Down
my
throat
she
goes

in tune

crawls
back
up
my
spine…

She is quick
cerulean trick
all over inside me.

She.

Posted by Invisibleye in: Poetry 3 November, 2009

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