The Byronic Method
       

There is no code or corrective shoe.
Only raspberries to cover the tips of my thumbs.

                        When I sexted you a snorkel you sexted me a squid.
                        Finally, a language for our modified love.

That spring I sexted the hell out of spires, ants on bananas,
some honeysuckle I saw in Syracuse. What else

                        counterfeits like lust? A fire escape, a fluid sky.
                        The endless ache of our minor works. I wanted to see

a distance, but through your eyes. When I sexted you
a telescope you sexted me the moon.

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Copyright © 2021 Christopher Salerno All rights reserved
from Deathbed Sext
Two Sylvias Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission