Chicano Poet

Monday, May 28, 2012

My Snow

I lie down with her
I am the color of my snow

I am limping
as we make love

it is all new to her
the stars are just a floor

she moans
like dry leaves

she cries
and her hands fall off

she is  besides herself
her thighs are nothing now

the hard knuckles of the moon
pop when it's over


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