David Walker

That’s what you remind me of.
The way you stick
like trying to liberate
a particularly stubborn fragment.
That expert maneuvering of fingernail
and tongue. Like an itch bunkered between
my first and second molar. Leaning
over a sink, my index prodding. A convulsion
that stains my saliva a chocolaty brown
before I feel you released from your roost.
I spit into porcelain, watch the rush of water
wash traces away – stand spent
for one more savor of you.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.

Posted on December 3, 2012, in David Walker, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. A last poem from David’s current submissions. Love can be a sweet and sticky business…if you know what I mean.

    Read his first two poems by clicking the link and following the “Older Posts” tab:

  2. Love as a feeling is often a scapegoat for other burnished old foibles, certainly it rises above a
    dud or just a mouthful of painful words on a tongue.

  3. It sounds more like a stalker than a lover (the sticky one)!

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