Your feet are peas – Cary Briel

Posted on Apr 26, 2011 in Poetry, Writing

A waif, an angel.
Run ’round our garden
calling til I wake.
I’ll shed my shame,
my Calvin Kleins.
Let’s be shameful
for the kids’ sake.
You sweat.
Your hands,
your lips,
your smell.
Sticky girl,
I’ll never tell.
Then flash it back,
and feign,
pretend,
crash flesh and wet
into me again—
crash sin.
Your feet are peas,
my hands reveal you—
make a meal of you.