Whispered you, my fertile spit
spearhead in the dead of night,
you’re Cthulhu tongued, tied to
ember sighs; yet my fingers
seek the avocado of your flesh.
We’ve built this prison, perfumed
with wont; in habit of conformance.
Our windows covered, barred in
gossamer concrete, and air’s
still stale with breakfast crumbs.
Susie inspires with the poetry written by Amber Rose Tamblyn at toads, and want us to use unexpected descriptions in you poem. This is more like a snippet than a complete poem, but it’s a trick I’ve used myself sometimes.
June 23, 2016