Prick me, my Anthi, with your biting smile
You know the one that demands I sit down
Admiring the contours of your mouth while
My heart concludes the label of a noun
I try to count your observable teeth
Unlike your toes that are always showing
Dressed like your bite in a snowy-white sheath
Your blue love for me is always glowing
Bite me with your lust, you can leave a mark
I will bite you back, I will leave my heart
Measuring the area of the arc
Defining Anthi as a work of art
I want to memorise each single tooth
At least two of them must carry the truth
About the Creator
Patrick M. Ohana
A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. Most of my pieces (over 2,200) are or will be available on Shakespeare's Shoes.
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Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven6 days ago in Fiction
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