Russian Roulette

By Taylor Haacke


Pull the trigger 
                            and don’t miss. 

Your shot (to kiss)
bated breathe,
softly- on the lips.

Close your eyes
and whisper, 
to me,
that sinking- sensation
from the back of your skull to the
tips of your toes as

the covers which mask your
strikingly... 
             bare...
                    body... 


-are drawn.

In a wayward trance,

cross the sheets
lay the pillow 
talk nothing but neatly.

Baby love me sweetly.