GloMag GloMagMarch2019 - Page 237

in love with me, all over again. That once I have written this poem you would put a purple mask over your eyes and kiss its lips. Then pull your dress around your hips and ride its meter. That you would move your body to the cadence of my voice; rising, falling, etching the skin of night with vowels. And as I near the end you would shudder one last time over this spent poem and fall asleep in its arms, satiated. 237