Br

My hands aim to touch you
To hang on your hip bones
Like I am falling from a building
And the villain is stepping on my fingers
One by one
I aim to touch your lips with mine
Like I want to torch the collected works of Mme. Coulter
I think lips inspire more passion
Confusion, like a man standing alone in the park naked and drunk
Asking himself, why does my ass hurt?
I aim for that too.
So you read these poems and judge and criticize
Which I don't mind.
Just think less, live more.