Burning Beds #99
September 28,  2002
 

Late in the evening
early mornings
drunk exclamations
on sweating receivers
he says he digs me
words of love and like
swapped like tongues;
fans of flesh
in burning beds
 
we tell each other
what our secret heart's say
as if our
heart is not part of us
but more something
we stretch out
in our palms

blood dripping
on our shoes,
forgetting the mess
we quiet our 
pens so that
we might be able to
hear its hope
still beating