Atlas by Caitlin Dicus

You are my Atlas.
Nothing can shatter those shoulders
I feel that fool my fingertips
Sliding slowly over their glassy surface
Convinced they are treasures breakable but
Heat rippling beneath the hard
Olive surface whispers secrets
Of something god-like and I
Would be false if I did not believe
That only the shoulders of a god would fit
So snugly behind my knees when you
Push them toward my chest.
Oh hold me high, Atlas.
When the coarse Greek curls that
Cover your heart are
Dripping, every inch of
Me suggests your heavenly scent
And only your lips can hold
The small gasps sliding from
My mouth, breathing frantic
Fire into my lungs and
I beg you, hold me high and fast
On your celestial shoulders so I may
Scream and sigh when you lift me to touch the sky
On your Grecian shoulders of Atlas.

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