salt water taffy

this heavy skin sags around the corners of my mouth
the insides of my thighs, underneath my breasts,
it weighs pure flesh pounds
and pools around my ankles

with the crack of a sick grin
his fingers prod me, molding the putty with his round tips
letting it slide from palm to palm
greased from the salty condensation of sweat

stretching and pulling, he tries to find the white light inside
beyond the creases through the gaping hole
but the way is barred with shiny teeth
and waves of the tinted organ


wrote this early a.m.
had too much gin.
poetry professor says not to use -ing verbs.
i always do.

(t.w. this is not the poem for you)