Sweet sticky stuff.

 

For Mr. Q.

 

If I knew you’d like it
or, at least,
wouldn’t mind,
I’d throw cans of paint
all over you.
I would tattoo your limbs
in pastels,
braid pipe cleaners into your hair
wrap them around toes and fingers,
paper-mache your face
with coffee filters soaked in honey,
pure honey,
straight from the comb.
I would seek out a bee keeper I trust
to supply the sweet sticky stuff.
I would lick the honey to the filters, and the filters to your face.
Lick these to your face.
Lick your face.
If I knew these things would
tickle smiles;
if this would soften your gritted teeth to a smirk,
I would do these things,
or these kinds of things.
I’d take a hose to you.
And do it all again.

 
Written Tuesday, May 27th, 2012.

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1 Comment

  1. if i’ll base the poem to the title itself, well, i’d thought of something.. but when i read it, it’s something haha!

    just kidding.. nice work!

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