I hear glory box and think

of you as pandora

of your mouth almost needlessly

whispering

of your lips almost eternally
of all your boxes

like charms

inside other boxes

 

and of your skin quivering

trembling

and of the chords that you touch

between your thighs

 

and with your hands you delicately part

your labia the longing and the secrets

that drip from the tips of your fingers