ap
oem
w
assu
mm(h)
e
rh
er
wa
sa
and
itwa
sjust
g
re
een
(h
erg
­ra
ss)          when it
s
pilt
that tenderest first hurting
o
fl
o
ve

.































































­












                                     love me.

                                     **** me.

                                     trust me.
















































.

the world fits most easily in rain between
the close thighs of light
eking just slenderly

one ephemeral rill of ****
penetrating
to eagerly spill
dawn.

                 (the though world
                   in rain fits just
                   in just the loose tenseness
                   of muscle unbounding
                   from bone, wide
                   )with
                    a sliver
                                of
                            neat

                     ssenlriG

know me:
(i am myself amongst you)
i am the root of light;
i am the light where roots dare not tread to pass.

Oh this were if only it were if
it might
be more possibly

to wantingly be.


                                    (but only)
                                          it's
                                        were

not if
or could.

Or if
it were
is

                       it might


(would)

     be.



an'
pleasantly so.

w

          w



                         wh



                                             what loves


                                                     this
                                                        I?i
                                                      loves the
                                                      rushing of in girls
                                                      Summer when heat
                                                      does its lips in forked
                                                      seething.

                                                       I loves
                                                       the hush
                                                       of almost winter nights
                                                       and the concise
                                                       melancholy
                                                       of empty rooms.


                                                        I loves
                                                        the by
                                                        cherriest of wristness
                                                        to loosely
                                                        in vagrant slumber
                                                        stir whitely.


                                                        I loves
                                                        the brother of my brother, and
                                                        the little timid
                                                        of barely unviolence boys
                                                        (in fists very tightly which).

                                                         But.

                                                          w w   ww what loves
                                                           Iis
                                                           the most
                                                           of life
                                                           and lessing
                                                           too
                                                           of it
                                                           into
                                                           primest daftness of sleep.

.























































                     "You're in love with love.

                                        You don't love anyone."













































.