another hour has become free of its moorings: and a battering laugh. palms withered a hole in each quartet not trolling the abyss. ice floes meaning hate spits bacteria from celestial insides, warm sciences that seep lobster claws. a tread indentured by sartorial gifts, legs set to lean. lust and smoke bravura as meteor excess, intoxication afraid to sound random. semen is at home within the last day's solar wink.
1 comment:
don't like the thought of those lobster claws...too B52ish for my liking!!
Post a Comment