The Red Series
by Suzanne Frischkorn
The Next Day
she meditates crimson thighs.
Please she begs her uterus--
shake the comfort of its flesh.
I promise, I promise, beats
her tongue like an insistent cock.
My husband hands his fever over
as if he slit open a woman
to reveal a yellow spray--
warm, firm, and infinite.
I whisper through wax red petals,
I am not your mother.
Sales Pitch at the Lipstick Counter
"Essential Pedestrian Red,"
she said sincerely. Language falls
through music, beat raw
this time, smears women over.
BROKEN NEWS || CRITIQUES & REVIEWS || CYBER BAG || CYB FI || EC CHAIR
FAREWELL, GREGORY: A POESY BURST FOR CORSO || FICCIONES || THE FOREIGN DESK
GALLERY || LETTERS || POESY || SERIALS || STAGE & SCREEN || ZOUNDS
©1999-2002 Exquisite Corpse - If you experience difficulties with this site, please contact the webmistress.