when you fuck a poem
August 31, 2019
her ink is wrapped around
your limbs like
tattoos of who is
written into you
stains stuck to the page
then transferred to your skin
stanzas scattered
across the floor
lines divided
creating sounds no linguist
has ever heard
your screams will be
songs with no shape
let her taste you solid
as a consonant
let her make you soft
as a vowel
with your mouth wide open
swallow every syllable
drip like coffee
when the morning’s long
and the writing won’t stop
spill a little
then soak
until you are two pages
pressed together
pin her by the corners and
recline between her lines
when she moans it will sound like
“you’re my title now”
Gowri Koneswaran
