“I like dappled hats,” she said
as she lit the incendiary device.
He enjoyed her wet diphthongs
on her nape, his frequency
modulator, his frenulum.
“You must warn me,” she said
as she manipulated the milibars.
He was engulfed by the heat
of her cardamom mouth, her amplitude,
her guttural declensions.
Read poems about / on: warning
Comments about this poem (Speech Impediments by Nick Carbo )
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