Thursday, February 26, 2009

3 Poems from Dianne Borsenik

These Places
sound like some astronomer's
wet dream

labia majora
gluteus maximus

sensations launched
from fingerpads
from point to point
traveling at the speed
of a synaptic kiss

this astronaut blinded
by the constellations
forming in your sweat-slick
pale universe

looking for that
Big Bang

Summer And Smoke

he holds his cock
like a paintbrush
touches her
white body
with long careful
he trails magenta
down her spine
the edges
he dips
again and again
into the bright
wet pools of color
with stipples
of sweat and cum

late at night
and alone
she dreams the blush
of the eastern sun

and she can hear
his Picasso
and she can taste
his Monet
First Kiss

Rising from a swimmer's dream
of coral and dappled light,
he skims off the beads
of sleep that slick his
eggshell skin.

The sky turns to smoke.
Stars, sprinkled like raw sugar
over the lake, sweeten
his dreams.

The night is different
here, where forgotten shadows
bend silver to their will.
The round nipple
of the full moon rises.

He tastes the honey
of her blood, holds it
on his tongue and remembers
vanished flowers.

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