by Christos Polydorou

Kiss my lips.

I live for this.
Kiss my neck.

I faint.
Long is your hair. I am a moth.

A waterfall of charcoal. A winged thing,
anyway. And yet you illuminate me.

And redden me, slightly, too.
I have a little bit of money,

some room,
and I have no need to run anymore.

What for?
Hold me.

My love?
Kiss my mouth.

I had said so much.
I spoke too loud.