
His limp hand rests
Almost casually
On the slope of my breast.
My heart has never heard drum solos
And I have no desire for him
To be honest or sincere.
My soul doesn’t scream
In his distance or proximity.
I don’t care about security
And I will not have him
In my river.
When he lies with me,
I’m indifferent,
Evaporating
in shallow theatrical moans.
There is no fire
So he brings no water.
And I wonder,
Who is this woman,
loitering in my body
With a man she doesn’t love.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston



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