palest inch of human health
who fringed at the edges with
hurting and raw pink a little
like a tulip on the faintly
murdered hush of caving night
is slick with wetness
                      
                   (petals, stem, and earth)

digs a root into breathless miles
of rich, wanting,

                                  dirt

If I remember correctly there was, eating into the rough and big of a quiet and unsnowed languid mountain, a road neatly where trodden a boy and girl (all day) who came to the body of a lake in the last wisp of summer gently amorous of their shoulders suffused a wreathe of light on bough and stem. Gentler, still, who even than irrelevantly brushed their limbs in copper and beaded dew of striving youth. I, if I remember correctly, was a boy who in a summer one time, by the body of lake, knew a girl. who said,

                                                                                                                                                                   she loved him.

looking real smart between flats
and a bob (in a sundress)
stands some fun

with cute red lips i
think would

be nice
             to get inside

i don't like you
no i
        like you

only when you R
with me
                   skin

                   bones (probably)

                   and hips

                   full

                   with my hips

let me just stumbling through finite health and glib, sturdy, night gather you up into immortal fleck of dying perfect girl(whose hair, swiftly annihilators, many short and wonderful dark, smells like living, balmy, and dirt)like the moon, drawn exactly round against the nape of common onyx heaven. And, i, carefully stupid
shall impart

                                            deliberate

                                  clumsy

                                                               ­    boylips

or the neat, pleasant, wind or
the meek pleasing almost like
there is outside. An ocean or
a trillion(very small mouths)
who pile into one minute
tumult the whole of every
lung. Which is the slight breeze
that presses across your shoulders
and nape
                  suddenly

when the lid of god's sullen eye                    Springs
                                                         ­           and out
                                                             ­       is borne
                                                           ­         that fleetest
                                                        ­            that fleetingest
                                                     ­               ****, innocent
                                                        ­            lust
                                                ­                    of
                                          ­                          Spring

wanting the good veneer
of boy eyes
girls
in tiny pieces
of neon
perspire
from the *******
of Friday

crawling up
their calves
into most life's
boywanted
aperture