naughty,  Poetry,  sensual prose poem

The Thinker’s Cure

red lips isolated in white

When you’re eaten up with things to do
When elegant brilliance leaves
hungers unfilled
When your heart has a head cold

I want to be a naughty smile

Sneaking up on you
getting wedged between
contemplations of
immaculately empty dreams
and
risk-analysis of ascending trusts

making you
lose your lists
of logistical etceteras
get lost
in the sway of hips
beating like a rhythmic sea
against reality’s shores

Unraveling dark-knit ponderings
one lick at a time
erecting a problem-solution
to clear your head
in the sweep of saucy tide
swallowing sorrow

And then I want to be…

that last drop
trembling
on the corner
between
naughty and Your smile

~Nara Malone

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