Poems ✍️
  25.09.2026
  3

Author: Robert Rorabeck

Beneath My Trespassing Overpass

I like to run my fingers down your extra
Small ribs
When we were in bed together, when we weren’t
Suppose to be,
Just to feel the little thefts that you have
Given me,
While your daughter slept her day away,
And your son burned things in the grass:
And your body moved so deep and brown, and moaning
Beneath my trespassing overpass.


  transgression illicit intimacy theft

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