When hair first grew between my thighs
I'd tuck my genitals out of sight
And take a look in the full-length mirror
At Sis, my twin, her long hair wound up
In shawl or turban.
We'd not been apart
Gently out of their holes in the earth
And drinks expresso, molto expresso,
And lives on her nerves.
Than I will and her messages
Are sharp and piney.
The full-length mirror much since she split.
But when I do I notice how
The lines are softening. However priapic
Or cunnilingual we are, we tend
To the ending of sex. Old men and women:
Dress 'em in jim-jams, mix 'em together,
Guess which is which.
The older I get, the closer I get
To her shamelessness, to her spit-cat wit.
Polish the timber and shine up the handles-
My scapegrace sister is coming home.
This also sort of relates to today's first post. I've posted it before, but that was back in the beginning before anyone- but anyone- was reading me.