Teasing......
the snail loves the
veins of the hands
they are the maps
to its licking pleasures
it feels blood
palpitating to its mouth
sacrifice beauteous
not consumed just felt
the hard house
is always the wall
that keeps it from the
hazards of the winds
from the minding of the
the leaves
from the mocking of the
moon
from the paleness of death
there is always the lingering
pleasure of non-consummation
fluid kept at the middle part
of the pelvis at the center
of the ecstasy of gravity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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