jezabel soul stretched, pressed between
glass and board, bordered by
what? i know only that a frame
now captures two sheets of
shimmering, slinking, dripping essence,
the poems you drew from my tongue,
that tripped over lips in their hurry
to slip into your ear
and slide down your throat.

and now you have a whole boquet of these
paper flowers, dancing words,
much too big to slide stoically
between glass and board,
too powerful to press for display.

will you fondle it fondly,
will you think of me as words turn,
languidly swaying, rivers flowing
in my strange tongue,
will you taste it,
as it slowly rolls into you?

will you feel me inside you
what's it to you?
who go