come in to me, your heart
and mingle intensely
(the muss, my fragrance)
thy nostril flared

deepishly to inhale:

the pistil


(Love's rose bared)

venez à moi, mon frère.

.












































                                                                    destroy what you love




























































­.

let's be pretty
inpurple
(your eyes)i'll

your throat(and
)how

           about it?

with the nuzzling
of my love fist, baby?ican

make you pretty



                                 ,baby?and i

can kiss you,

                       dear.doyou

want it













          ?

sa
yn
ota
wor
dor
)don


           'ts

a




                       ya




                 words
                     m
                   o
                    u
                   t
                    h(h
                        o
                           W)about
                          how
                            in
                        winter

                           slep
th
ard
ly a
letter
ofy
ourbody.but

(with a verb i
                    you
                    the aching
                    and all the birds
                    of a forest
                    
                    leapt

                       from





                          SLUMBEr



                          and rose






                          upon







                            the crimp

                            of darling youth





                             a flower,



                                 ,


                                          .



                               ,



                   ,



                                          .

kiss fingers hotly each
march wise
silked in
the fair health of autumn dying

(dying autumn lives so
dying and it hotly
body decays in petals
of orange and brown) up

leans the quick back of
and a mountain suddenly

where thickly flits a doe

between trees dying
she.

the and

you, who arrive out of nothing,
sleeked of rain
drown by fingers all the pud-muddley world

and comes thy hair so soft

and comes thy blithe so bonny

as feet of snow
(where love can't grow)
and eats all beams a tawny