when i see your feather head
my cunt becomes a tickle of a thing
i'm afraid it's going to laugh in public
my hands won't do much good
they're small and my cunt is deep
a trickle of a laugh seeps through my fingers
yours is small
your hands can reach much further
when you touch me
the laugh becomes a silent flutter
like runny chick wings rubbing up
against their egg shells
About the AuthorMeghan Lamb was born in 1985. Meghan Lamb was a student at Indiana University until 2009. She enjoyed reading, writing, and sunflower seeds.
