Chicano Poet

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Half Full

This morning she poured herself into her pants
as she always did.

Her red lipstick
smeared on birds before ten.

The glue of her thighs
set for love.

Each scrape of her smile
left a wonderful flake.

Her naked shoulders
in their chosen land.

If it wasn't for the birds,
who'd know?


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