She had the abbyss in her hand.
She couldn’t handle this glass.
You could hear the flip flops,
And the pieces as they scattered around.

11 a.m. sun like a laughter.
You steal a glance from the window,
But get stuck and you do not want to go away.
It will be a wonderful day
Just wait and see.
Burning leaves…
Laughing trees…

Those curved aloe vera branches
Were
****
Moistened.
Thighs
To me,
Coming
In freckles

There is not much you can do about it.
A bee is just like a bee.
Will wander around the garden.
Will chase after her own affair.
Flowers

There is an underground story
When i see this juvenile olive in bloom.
Of lines,
Of angles,
Of raindrops,
Abstract that is left unsaid.

Anytime she would see
The branches of aloe vera,
She would be caught by surprise;
Those tall, moist, freckled branches;
She would swear
They belonged to a girl;
No there was no flower standing there
At the window;
There was a girl with moist,
Smooth, freckled thighs;
And wicked they were;
She wanted to sense that smooth curve,
That soft skin;
How she would pass her fingers
Eagerly along the flesh; they made her long;

He did throw the ***** on my back!
And it wouldn’t stop coming out.
It gave me a sense of fascination,
And lewd.
I can not explain objectively why