Episode 5c: Once, Every Few Months

You are the antidote
to this poison.
Not the poison
only lolled by your lips.

I could never hope
to sip that balsam kiss.
Instead the poison
of your soft pupils,

the strands of hair

that pat the back
of your neck, and the sweet
curve of your hips.
Even more potent

the poison of thoughts
I imagine you keep hid
in your hearth,
keep alive in a notebook

or a box

you keep locked up,
that could not be unlatched
by a house, or kids,
or his ever boring kiss.

Talking to you,
hearing what a bore
you’ve become, how contented
is the antidote to my imagination,

fantasy built over months

of sleeping late,
dressing you up
as my confidant,
undressing you

as my own flesh.

email: p3podcast@mac.com
phone: 70 425 Poems

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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