Prickle, It Prickles.
these many too frequent empty flavors make me tear.
drip rupture sprinkle
to the ground, prickle, it prickles.
condemn me to wonder, a sparkle of her sweet.
puzzled by mind, whirl heart twirl.
agony, candy kisses, carnival heroes and innocent scribbles
make it moderately tangible.
spit swallow sculpture
filmy bones collide, a breath disrupts time
my teeth clinch as blood invert to surreal,
she touches like a thousand. Mother Theresa.
all falls. mellow. the cognitive city goes asleep.
she plays my thoughts gently.
sings swings suspends
make her cease.
Copyright © Petrus Jansen | Year Posted 2006
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