black river in
you
glass as nature
empty on own
sweep of shines
canopy
an awning
(remove the
we
almost
noticed,)
and
coach earth over
a
bedroom a lie a hum what
exactly
are you expecting?
—on his face’s
fists space I’ll friend
face
over this body of dice
to
moan shirt arms on your sleeping
mirror
No comments:
Post a Comment