Said Heathcliff to her long dry tresses,
“I feel like hippopota-messes.
Under the moors your teeth are dust,
your frilly buttons turned to rust.”
Said Heathcliff to her cold crevaces,
“Come dance with me upon the grasses.
With Venus now eclipsed with Mars
I’ll watch your eyes reflect the stars.”
Said Heathcliff to her at the dawn,
“Your whalebone hoopskirts turn me on.
And all the little things you brave
Like eating mushrooms from your grave.”
Said Catherine as they lay together,
“Your skin, Heathcliff, is supple leather.
Just shut your mouth and kiss me well
It’s cold down here, as cold as hell.”
— Paul R. Wade
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment