Revolution NOW [16]: And The Word Became Flesh
And The Word Became Flesh
the white space waits for my reply
I don’t type, instead the words appear
in bold on my fingertips,
in my pulse
the white space waits for my reply
I put my fingers on my lips, so I can’t type
the letters appear in italics
in my mouth
the white space waits for my reply
instead syllables slip, slow,
over (oʊvər) my (maɪ) breasts (brɛsts)
the white space waits for my reply
I close my eyes, your words in sans serif
written along my thighs
hot little darts
I put my fingers where your words are
my reply a bitten lip,
a breath, a moan.
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Please read the full requirements on our Submissions page, before sending your work.
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