CPR

kissing you just now --
the long autumn sun
fingering through your lashes
and the hush of your last breath
before you lean upward,
the shadows making mad dashes
into your eyebrows --
I thought of that fat kid
with the wet, rubbery belly
and the lessons in cardio pulmonary resuscitation
at poolside when I was eleven --
except that
your lips aren't blue and
I like you more and
I let you stick it in me.

Comments

[mybigego]

raw. wonderful. keep at it.

[Buddah Moskowitz]

In the above three poems, there seems to be a recurring theme of fingers. Wonder why? I liked the end - brings the reader to immediacy.