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\\
how often do
the properties
of the spheres
a line in tune
for you and i
the odds were
bet on the worst
horse
but odds are
what we are
you south
me north
magnetically
we kissingly
attract
poles