Patricia Wallace Jones

In Her Hip Pocket

by Ralph La Rosa

In her hip pocket, like a pupal worm,
I’m making every effort to sustain
my love for her — she thinks I should remain
back here, a dormant mute, to reaffirm
devotion. In this cocoon, I feel alarm
about my fate but try not to complain.
Bruised at times by buttocks, and in pain,
I still can’t voice my dream — to finally charm
my way from heavy hips up to her face,
where I, unfolding like a chrysalis,
my mandibles aquiver for a kiss,
might light on rosy lips and taste her grace.
I fear this larval state will never pass:
she holds me hostage here to kiss her ass.

Ralph La Rosa daydreams, fantasizes, and writes in Los Angeles.