Caves

Your voice

won’t echo here,

but hover

at my ragged points;

stalactite –

drip dripping steady ‘til

there are mounds

of you

at both my highs

            and lows.

                        11.06.2015

Quench

 Baby pours a double

His fingers are slim, and

Slick from a clumsy spill.

He’s a heavy hand.

My top lip tingles before I’m half in.

He casts a smile

Over the wooden divide

I am whet; procured.

Sentenced.                       

09.08.14