It’s a predicament, it’s a predicament,
it’s a saucer of urge–
unmistakably a loud speaker that cannot be located.
It’s angst filled poetry,
it’s shattering confessions to mute parts of the body.
Flavour me, red
make my mouth numb for several minutes;
why isn’t there a doorway that leads straight into
a pool of desire?
It’s hot whispers traveling from one ear to another
in a crowded room,
it’s the constant ebb and flow of a river.
It’s an open space, it’s delight in disorder–
it’s thinking one knows the other person well enough.
Photo credits: Paul Biddle Conceptual Art, Pinterest
Posted for “Play It Again” @ Real Toads