RIC S. BASTASA


RIC S. BASTASA Poems

O GOD!

you never really mind
how a finger dips itself in honey
how the tongue was able to lick the tip of the nail
how the arm moves in a dance
and the feet tap and tip the whole night
how the hips sway all those lefts and rights
till morning
you never scrutinized the nerves where they live
and thrived

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