this tongue is a believer
a pink wet knight sending secret messages with sewn-up kisses
all the way down to the heart
even the black skeleton of that dried-up frog you found on the path, summer’s ago, will rise and make love again
i wish to push my fingers down the throats of all who pass me by
there is no polite way
to ask to see your insides
only skin
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Something has certainly begun. Personal depths of old and a curious imagination for the unshaped, moves in me like guests at a polite party. The sound of the clothes flapping silently in the room, the flickering of lights and the noise – and something is here, presenting itself to me.…
. what made the glass spill? what made the earth stand still? what made the winds sing in the skies? what frightened the cat? . within a crescent moon there are infinity bodies waiting to be caught .