Early Fingers Make Flowers of All Things
THE tongue makes
words so hungry
but
i love you
and
i hate you
//a charter crisply straying
jig-saw shape across the secret-corner
promises a love for you
when with you i do not wish to be
but the bedroom's secretly
moist eyes are kissingly
playing with me _____
and hope is a thief while top-turved
insides need the pleasant
surprise to be; thy lips a sweet
thing death, wait here\\
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