A Love Poem

His tongue tastes like saliva

and cherry

Skoal.

When he wants to fuck,

he asks if I’m in the mood;

is that respect or

indolence?

Why should I

care?

His irises are

two oceans alight

with bursts of butter yellow

sun;

a pair of pupils are black

holes I navigate.

I love him,

and I don’t mind that

he seeks permission

to fuck me.

I love him

and the tang

of ultra-fine tobacco.

I love him

and the ordinary scent

of his skin.

I love him

and his cannon mouth,

made for resounding laughter.

I love that he said if I

die first, he’ll carry

my ashes in his pocket—

his front one so I’m

closer to his you know what.

His tongue tastes like saliva

and cherry

Skoal.

© 2019 Kindra M. Austin

Published by Kindra M. Austin

Author of fiction, poetry, and very sweary social commentary. Editor, and co-founder of Indie Blu(e) Publishing. Co-founder of Blood Into Ink, and Heretics, Lovers, and Madmen.

2 thoughts on “A Love Poem

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