here's a poem I wrote while sitting in the square earlier this semester,
sorry I haven't posted it until now:
Frosted Frankness
I watched the chiseled teeth of winter
bite into the apple of unknowing rouge,
tasting crunch and smelling silk cold shake,
hearing solitude in "will you drink my everything
with skim milk and two sugars?"
You're not from Brooklyn, Steven.
Your shirt's inside out
and you're going to take it off
when I smile "no".
It feels good pressing your
quiver between my quake
but it means as much as
insolence does
at the core
within this tart and spheric
gloss of human
drip.
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