In the dense Florida air one night
we mingled with the wallpaper.
Staring transfixed towards it's sickly browns
and seventies mod shapes as the smoke
from barely lite joints curled slowly;
bits of the sparked cherry
blearily reflecting back to our brains.
And when we could no longer fill in the quiet,
she covered me in the coat of her bottom lip
as her pelvis wrote
a bel canto
for her tongue.
High off the sounds of Ginsberg
and the Pagan ocean,
insane from it's incantation,
we sewed the sheets with feet
and legs till the knots of thread
bled us down to one.
Fording the river of time and reality
in bell bottoms and lonely bras,
our breasts and breasts hung dangling,
four suns tilted evenly around the earth.
And for a moment,
I hallucinated sounding groovy.
Samantha Charlip is Brooklyn-based poet and screenwriter. She holds a BFA in Writing for Publication, Performance and Media from the Pratt Institute. Her work has appeared in the alternative film journal, Acidemic. In her spare time, Samantha enjoys writing and producing her own short films. Samantha currently works in television.
2005, Samantha Charlip ©.
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