The River


You can't help who you love

But you can help who you kiss

You can touch like you want to touch

Soft, and in length,

Quick, hard, and jealous.

You can help where you whisper,

In parking lots dark  enough

To sneak passed inhibitions

To let whispers wrinkle the air

Like the morning before sunrise,

Too new for daylight,

Too new for garage punk trash sound.

Whispers like freckles

Quick, blind

And sensual

Sexual like the first rain in the amazon,

Engulfing and holding

Like black silence

In a parking lot by a lake

Feeling freckles with my tongue

And the white glow of the moon,

Like the whisper you traced

On the back of my neck.


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