Poetry is something hidden and immediate.
Kisses going off
Like fireworks in the sky
Inside
A model of restraint
Teased into brutality
My merciless fingers
Grazing against damp, tender
flesh
Your attention bones to the
Brushing touches
Dancing to call spirits
In your kitchen
Taste of good gin
On our lips
Here, you surrender
And won a state of perpetual grace
Softened and expanded
Like a bright, burning star.
MB Blissett 