Two Poems by Wayne F. Burke

spit
a sweat-hog in the bed
beside me, one of her tits
a flattened loaf of bread, the
other like a torpedo–
I wonder when the last time
she brushed her teeth;
after she spits
into her hand
I cannot go through with it:
I hang-out at the edge of the
bed
until
she starts to snore.

Facial
She took it like a sword-swallower
in and out, the
length of it, her
lips gripping me like a baby’s fist.
I jerked her head back
as I shot
a full-load that
splattered her glasses and
her red lips parted, white
teeth flashing in a broad smile,
I squeezed another burst
like bullets from a machine gun
and was surprised
afterward
no pock marks on her.


Wayne F. Burke is author of 8 published poetry collections and one short story collection. His poetry has been widely published online and in print. He lives in Vermont.

Published by mistyrampart

Freelancer, poet, dreamer

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