Poetry Blogs (exchange)

Lick your fingers
Every last bit
Bend over
Take the hardest hit
Now, burn
And let me watch
Crumble
On the spot
Twist yourself in knots
I want the final drop
Then,
Become dust
Collapse and shed
Until the last sparkle
Of my Queens head
Is spent
Until the last glimmer
Of her glitter
Has bled
You belong to me
I own your soul
That is how
You line
Every pocket
With gold

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The key of currency
is the changing of hands,
a baton passed on
in constant motion
that binds together
all its participants.

A fresh, crisp bill
is a virgin still,
between your fingers
whose anticipation
and epic journey
are yet to unfold.




 

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