Inner Space Exploration
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
A lover has a comet for each hand;
Five comets, finger comets with each touch.
Each finger gives a hint more like a brand
Waved near a part of me. It brings a clutch
Of heart and sphincters down below; like lips,
Too. Never mind the fingers. I want tongue
To glow, a meteor arching to hips,
Delivering a meteorite slung
From heaven, now, against a nipple’s need.
I want those fingertips in glitter force
Against the needy parts of me. My creed
Demands a galaxy to drive me hoarse.
..Impact my guts. Make a willing crater there.
….Turn guts to moons that heave for gasping air.