there’s something Gigeresque
about the ripples below her breasts,
skeletal, rib-like
muscular, elemental,
symmetrical like a trilobite,
and soft, like water ripples,
tan and lithe,
carved delicately
and charged with sex,
she lies coolly
pressed down on shag,
shooting electricity
from bone hard
seizing the eye,
and sucking out the power
to resist,
with a vice-grip stare
and a sneer
on the mouth
and an arched eyebrow
that hits you in the guts
and grabs you
with deep-dug talon hooks,
the look that crushes you
like a python,
the look that orders you
to fuck

c. 2001, 2008 Evan Gilling


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