Black Tongue She had a tongue the colour Of thick, slow-poured molasses— And when the men would cull her She would utter black masses. She would dress herself in words And backmask her black intent As she split men into thirds— Two for the road and one gent’. She liked her men well—well—read; She would tie up the premise With thick, ashen, asphalt thread— She was called H.E. Ellis. Share:ShareClick to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pocket (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on Reddit (Opens in new window)Click to share on Skype (Opens in new window)Click to share on Telegram (Opens in new window)Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window)Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window) Related May 1, 2012October 31, 2012 Categories: Poetry