Your mouth comes to me, only your mouth.
comes flying
dragonfly blood flare
that lights my night this ash.
entire sea salt dwelling in her,
the whole sound of the sea,
all foam.
Boca drawn for kisses ,
where tantalizing your tongue sleep.
entire world wine is in your mouth,
all the sin
and all innocence.
Boca shut up and when he says, hidden.
Capable of your mouth the whole truth,
the whole truth and lies.
Laugh your mouth and wake up the day.
(Lightning snow there in your laughter.)
As a herd of ponies run over me
kissing your delicious mouth,
your mouth, butterfly wrong,
your mouth others that is blurred
in my circle night and ash.
Tag Archives: creator
soupaphiliac
campbells soup
can red white wrapped
filled with inconsequence
chicken creamed white pulse
tomato scarlet flow
twisting opener
pressure and urge
scot towel to mop up
each dribble from serrated
edge of can.
there is no prehistory in these
objects on a supermarket shelf
conditional lifespan,
to be consumed
or immortalized ,
maybe when it is emptied
my heart will be placed
inside a broth of pain
and societies torture,
so different and will not yield
my mind
my art
my love
drip upon my lips
down my chin
i will yearn for more
velvetmedia 