The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by M. Nasorri Pavone
Though It Looks So
My hand spread along the sun-warmed width of your thigh. It’s there not to hold you back, nor to claim you, though it looks so. It’s the heat I relish—my flat palm, five fingers—star fish at home in the tide pool. How everything beyond our water line shrivels me to brittle. The unguarded clutch of a starfish under the sun in her bath— anyone could pry it from its stone, grab my hand, pull me away from you. Even you. So don’t. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |