he wipes his glass clean
she wipes his glass clean
his glass hers
to see in
the fold of her being
she sees to it all clearing;
and things to fulmination
committing a steady ****** into
the silence, this afternoon
I think to myself
wardrobes tossed
hers, somewhere there, in oblivion
temporary, absolute,
zeroed in, sexed up against walled-up contention
our legs a tribe
of hounds, our fingers
feathering light through his glass
she wiped clean
with her emissions
eyes wide as morning
somewhere by a mountainside, horses
ride into the Sun
and he thinks of
repetitive lapping of floundered waves
to bite shore
and she thinks herself
a verse punctuated
open still
to
revisions
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
he wipes his glass clean
she wipes his glass clean
his glass hers
to see in
the fold of her being
she sees to it all clearing;
and things to fulmination
committing a steady ****** into
the silence, this afternoon
I think to myself
wardrobes tossed
hers, somewhere there, in oblivion
temporary, absolute,
zeroed in, sexed up against walled-up contention
our legs a tribe
of hounds, our fingers
feathering light through his glass
she wiped clean
with her emissions
eyes wide as morning
somewhere by a mountainside, horses
ride into the Sun
and he thinks of
repetitive lapping of floundered waves
to bite shore
and she thinks herself
a verse punctuated
open still
to
revisions
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