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The Mud MAG
August 7, 2009
the mud forms its mouth
into a platoon of puckered lips
and sucks away my death
from the bottom of my feet.
In the crevice of my ankles,
it reclines, purring –
I have domesticated it.
It creeps up my calves,
my knees,
its belly is my skirt.
It wraps its arms around my hips,
lays its cheek against my stomach
as a child does;
hands on my back,
as a spell.
Its fingers invite my hair
to live in my neck.
I bend, it knights me,
touching my shoulders,
blessing me.
I rest my chin on its breastbone
© Jesse G., San Francisco, CA
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Favorite Quote:
Ça fait tellement du bien d’aimer les gens qu’on aime, que ça finit par faire mal. Je sais pas comment on survit a ça. Non franchement, je sais pas. LOL (laughing out loud) ®, Lola.