In Her Hip Pocket
In Her Hip Pocket
In her hip pocket, like a pupal worm,
I’m making every effort to sustain
my love for her—she thinks I should remain
back here, a dormant mute, to reaffirm
devotion. In this cocoon, I feel alarm
about my fate but try not to complain.
Bruised at times by buttocks, and in pain,
I still can’t voice my dream—to finally charm
my way from heavy hips up to her face,
where I, unfolding like a chrysalis,
my mandibles aquiver for a kiss,
might light on rosy lips and taste her grace.
I fear this larval state will never pass:
she holds me hostage here to kiss her ass.
Ralph
__________________
Ralph
|