NaPM April 28, 2018

[Knot]

.....................pʌstju:l

                        or,
Abscess Makes the Heart Grow Fonder


Let us, my love, consider the word
pustule , and so pop it
into our hungry, possessive mouths.
Ever mindful
of the infective heat, the need,
like lust, for contagion.

Taste the sweet plosive, exploding,
bursting behind
our too white teeth.  Lips part
on the sibilant
ecstasy of it.  Tongues rise,

writhing muscles
in the buccal dampness, slow
opening lid,
of an ancient kist, something rotten,
a forgotten scent

escaping on the chamber's breath.
My lips purse, now,
towards the kiss of you, stretching
into an assertion
of will.
                                  And release.




.