Summer, it's been how long – uoy neeb, Summer? since
last time
i was inside you,

Summer.how
long low dry
in your intense
dull fragrance
,Summer , has

there been the
tranquil riven
deepening purple
of very supple
twilight,                               Summer?

the hair you are is very shining
between the creased heaving
of your ******* Summer; it
droops a slow slung leaving

of breath

of breathe/breathing.


Summer i can't do you think there are and how many nights inside you
their quick quick hands between the course prickle of wincing darkness
shingled with the tiny digging of pale spades?

(i do not know)

i will live occasionally until there are no more nights inside you
and i, cloaked in the able dirt of dying earth, the moist splinter of my body

quick   quicker

than any night passed inside you since the last time i was

and longer


longer



than

the low the low low

black blackness

of steep steep steep dark.

wut

   wut've u beeen?weight, wait


waitin 4 u been(the mouth

(the hair the

    fingers)(inside the


)tuchin the touching
inside you the
way quick quivers
jostle in your wet wet?)

U been waiting for hands(4hands
)on your neck in your mouth

in your mouth's been waiting
4 sum fingers

4 sum lick spit fingers
(your mouth:

sum wut's

been

weighting

4 sum.    Wut?

felt, have you ever,
a world without fingers
,grooves,
or
edges of roughness?

it does not feel of anything
expect feeling more deeply
than hands ever have been.

Coming at the backs of your
eyes with peculiar easy intense
banding of unbroken shades
of light, it does not emit
a single colour instead
it fills with brief singular
tingling of being

a texture more wordless
in words uneasy to say
a poem of trite inevitable singing.

Is, the definitive
not me when
whose hands(?
)are these
in my hands, Spring?(the grass)

and trees occasionally
mirror the always of
my body as dirt;
there won't be
a day when. I or i shall

go amongst the chansons
of lilies the dilute spell of
life mysteriously. a flense

of an ember parted on
on the parting of a blade
of green and waxy earth

gardens will where gods
do not go and grow
more deep than worms

into each body their roots
as hard as soft as
and light might apparently
become a mote

of your wrists will
pass into the lips
of other lovers

a very tiny song.

.



































                                                  "what can I do?"


                                                   "what ever you want."






























.

.














                                            




­







                                              SO.me um sum *******

                                                uff ruff ******* so
                                                polished; leashed
                                                IN

     ­                                                      your
                                               spread your *******
                                               mouth
                                               let's (wider)
                                               hard i'm
                                               going
                                                         to

                                               so those
                                               fukin
                                               take em off
                                               satin white
                                               little littles
                                               ,
                                               ****(do you like it when

                                                i "yes
                                                ))))        ­       please

                                                please


­                                                 "hurt me
                                                  into apart teeth .   teeth
                                                  fingers inside

                                                  inside tongue
                                                  tonguing­ little
                                                  rrufff stubble

                                                  neck neck:

                                                  throat.
­
                                                  Gag.

there is a shape you are
the shape of a
cool
cool river
on a hothothot
summer summer

summer summer
day
day
day
day

(liquid cool;crystal between
the heap of your femurs
there is a tight tight
song of inside           ) i can and can you

hear
the slow and droop
of your crystal body
twinged with the caressed
lance of
awful day     (Let's Night) .


there is beach out there i have been to in the summer with you let's go