Damn you.
And that shirt.
Damn you in that shirt.
Smirk and pretend that you’re unaware,
But I know that you know
What you’re doing
To me.

Threadbare, and
Faded the color of old straw
With a single, ragged hole. . .right there.
How I want to peek behind that
Yellow curtain and see what
It’s hiding.

 The line
It draws across
Your shoulders is wicked.
I would wet my fingertips in earthy ochre
And slowly paint from left to right,
Then stand back
To admire.

My name
Should be written
Across your broad chest,
Scratched there by my own hand
Like limonite on the ancient walls of Cypress,
Claim staked for all to see
Open to none
But me.

Torment me
With that broad chest,
And with those wicked shoulders,
And the way faded yellow tumbles down
From precipice to canyon.
I sing amen
, and again:



8 thoughts on “TORMENT ME

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