Dancing In Kitchens
This shuddering heart-throb.
This 11-pound earthworm.
Warm, with fat skin in tiny bundles.
Eyes swimming for clarification,
The gleam in them like lighthouses
In search of just you.
Her arms cling sloth-like around my neck.
Her legs pump and jostle for position.
(For what? A better view over the left shoulder?
I tried the right now and again. She hated it. So left only now.)
Like this in low-lit kitchens, we dance.
I dip and slide with this big fleshy spider
While it emits piggish grunts.
She burrows endlessly into my collar bone,
Dying to dive back into daddy's DNA
For something left behind.
The Infant Paleontologist,
Desperate for discovery.
But she won't find anything. She never does.
She always falls asleep too soon.
I'm too good of a dancer.
(For now, anyway.)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
