what the **** have you done

.                          



                                                                                    fuckable






                 the





                                          haireyes





                                          morning roll



                                          her pinched





                                         cleft

                                        wafts hard
                                        smelling of seagirls; i splitting
                                        wet
                                        crack
                                        stiffly her the


                                        fingers

                                        ENTeringleAVE
                                        dewed
                                        in
                                        A
                                        Shout "yes"
                                        (ok again
                                          i will)

                                         push her up
                                         me to
                                        
                                         sighing wider
                                         apart
                                         yawing
                                         thighs
                                         extremely
                                         taste


                                         li(ke
                                         brine tastes sweetly sour
                                         )marching through
                                         mouth across
                                         tongue

                                         throat and hand
                                         "please"
                                          tightly
                                          "hert me"
                                           and
                                           "ok" i'll

its throat is very

(the night)

whose fingers deeply grouse
in such blue as silken eve
the whole stack
of enduring
city

roar
and speckled
by the quiet of an alleyway
drenched in stillness whitely

stealing sudden magically
into a tightest yearning swallow

(feels as does and such as when
i think to think

i think as when
in Summer balmy please
skin to stick to skin

a flower just
its fullness to erode
the fever of its pollen

distilled erectly kissing
one unblemished lips

of night who when did
Grousing so bluely
its fingers                     )

don't go
(the world is)

i am


and sitting


miles away

(tick tock)

in a pale room
buzzing

(tock tick)

a fly

violently


( waiting )

where are you?
i love you.
don't go


(i can hear sitting) miles away)

a fly
buzzes
violently

this world

does it see the feel need
(as a child does



                                         )flowers?


and does it see them?
the stems by coloures eloquent
bobbling tiny thousands

each a poem silked in light
each a vast array of smell


and does it feel them?
the curving hollow
of rushing soft

to gather in a ****** plume
the tease and romp of hue


and does it need them?
the sigh and quake of fragile dying
the least living
the most loving

and does this world
(as a child does

a flower )?

and does it?



























and does it?

when i the you sweetly
sublime of
knees fleeting intensely

kiss inwardly
the entering sound

You
the perhaps exactly
shed a sliver of teeth

by catching skin
gag
upon a sliver
of ***** shyness

and seem feel
the arms by
youth hard

hands

crimped skinny hot
vulnerable teasing
to swallow

i'm sitting i can hear the ocean way out over the moon hangs deftly round in all the fitness of chaste and cool darkness my hands are at my waist i'm sure they are and where are my hands i wonder at the split milken and tenderly dripping sea it whispers my heart is in it deeper than a seagirl their ******* are like cherries popping sweetly with just a crisp flens if pinkness at their tips at their **** i'm feckless staring harder than and harder then a star leaps wholly the blouse of night one unsharp button of her quickly tousled hem i'm tearing to by bit by into her tear and a boy is sitting on his door step he looks thinking one day he will make a boy in a girl spilling her full of him