Turn me, burn me, make-me-yearn me
inside pout, outside bend,
tease me, tantalize me,
make me spend
my thoughts on blues and southern rock,
that guitar slide, that keyboard high
while I feel your bass inside my hips,
lose myself in your lips.
Amuse me, confuse me,
kiss me when you bruise me
deep down, drumming inside the capillaries
running to my spleen,
my heart beating your rough blood
while you breathe my smoke.
Take me, shake me,
dammit, earthquake me—
I’ll let you dance in my
aftershocks
and bring you down low,
back in the river
where the cypress grow.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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