whisper of yellow globes
gleaming on lamp-posts that sway
like bootleg licker drinkers in the fog

and let your breath be moist against me
like bright beads on yellow globes

telephone the power-house
that the main wires are insulate

(her words play softly up and down
dewy corridors of billboards)

then with your tongue remove the tape
and press your lips to mine
till they are incandescent 

Poet: Jean Toomer
Poem: Her Lips Are Copper Wire

Are you looking for more information on this poem? Perhaps you are trying to analyze it? The poem, Her Lips Are Copper Wire, has received 24 comments. Click here to read them, and perhaps post a comment of your own.