Poetry at Sangam

SangamHouse

 










Sexts in the Age of Intuitive Typing

After Jill Essbaum

He wants to luck my wits
when I muzzle his wreck

I crave for his hard clock
To center my wet ash

He dreams of trying me
up in silken hopes

I promise to follow
His soul harness

We dream of falling asleep when
our petty bodies tire themselves

Out of all their mild guesses

 

Scherezade Sanchita Siobhan