by L.M. Browning, except from Drive Through the Night

 

Ride this life hard

      —barebacked, bone-shaken.

Wrap your legs tight

      —thighs around her rib cage, pounding.

Take hold in the rush

       —fingers tangled in her mane, entwined.

 

Don’t look back,

there is nothing for you there.

 

Recent Poetry Posts

Constellation of Wounds | A Poem

Constellation of Wounds | A Poem

8,947 miles later, I know now why you refuse the say the names of those dead-to-you-yet-still-breathing—afraid as you are of the monsters are still under the bed—yet in the silence, you give them immortality…

The Technicolor Burning Bush | A Poem

The Technicolor Burning Bush | A Poem

I hear the voice of god in the hum of the neon sign at the rest stop, where the caravan of displaced desperadoes and expats post-up for the bottomless cup of coffee….

Subscribe to the Biannual Newsletter

Receive the latest news and updates from L.M. Browning

You have Successfully Subscribed!