Tap Wall Vipers

by December 25, 2015 0 comments

Serpents smell of beer, thriving in kegs, tap lines.
Thirsty? Lap up a viper pit as tongues twist tales
of sweetness, when snakes strolled to dance floors
to spill in curled cursive how drunks will fall in spells.

They’ll take in everything from throat to tail
while wearing their eyes inside your own,
powdered nose cobras loving the value of venom.

Earth’s oldest thin dragons spit poisonous sugar from inside
women made of scales, muddy faces of manmade prayers,
never to slide into sunlight.

All that’s known is to strike when passion
is how bites feel to the bone.
Nothing’s more intimate than teeth.

The slither of colors across cheekbones,
drunks teach snakes to preach.
Fuck them down their jaws, right through the fangs.

Snap and suck out a deeper scream.
Draw blood as the Holy Spirit never does.
I only pray to taste the dirt you’re living on.

editors note:

When the fangs are flying, there’s only one way to run; in a serpentine fashion. – mh clay

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