the house is quiet the light is bedside
warm outside the sound is barely of
chimes (i can hear) i can feel the hot
coil of your leg snaring the almost not
groan of the big room is dusty with the
whisker of a cat shifts your hips (into
my hips) inching slumber deeply into
heat of closeness to body white and
shoulders cut curved of alabaster
grooving into the pale basin of your
chest at the base end of your neat neck
almost like talcum like light powder of
dusting the immense club of sleep is
your wrists are a tiny potion of
thousands of years of silence only to
live through 23 years a girl sleeping
enormously the room doesn't change
doesn't move barely a bit or budge
even more than slightly than a mote at
a time (4:00am) i kiss i cull i cup your
shoulders drinking the burning wine
of your heaped hips into mine
knowing someday you will be dead.

.




















                                                         "So,                                                         what

kind                       of                                                ****

              are                                       you


                                into


                                                                                                          ?"





                                                




                                                 "Consensual ****."

little blue pale who
hurt knees(              )inside
slightly of
purple feels alone
sitting slightly
knocked,


mouth doing
the totally brutal
girl thing:  

                      your estuary

in which sleeps titanic dreams
of glaring night
****** summer
and unkempt
                sprin
                         G


shines so easily
with heavy beauty


and tinily utters
each new careful star of eve :                          (your hair is a deep mystery;
                                                        ­                       like the sea–
                                                            ­                   shook,
                                                          ­                     folding
                                                         ­                    )(endlessly
                                                     ­                           into folded
                                                          ­                      coils o' gold stuff made         )





tucked
suddenly
into
the
quiet
crook
of
a
book
store



                                       ,"I like your nose ring."

glory is to suddenly
hands drunk with
sunlight mingle
moted through
errant beams of
almost spring light

(the steering wheel tears laughing and enormously

    into


                the infinitely splayed
                thighs of flower



                a Pale hand waits
                to ***** the flourishing stem


                and drink through
                near darkness
                the excellent body of Spring,

                                      
                                                           '



                                                             ­         ,


  
                                        '





                 ­                                                  ,


.) Chaste–
doe ears leaf cotton
the twill of starlight
rough kissing between
forced lips of stiff youth:




                                                      ­   i
                                                    rid
       ­                                     iculous
                    ­                      ly that a
                                      m of freck
                                  led shoulde
                              rs lead through
                              by the parting
                               of naked health
                                 bright forests of
                                   dark trees
                                 whose black
                                wood hides in
                             who the always
                           sinking cur of
                      dumbest youth) let me speak and i will tell you a day:

.
























































        "Why are you crying?"


         "Because you're so beatiful–
           and someday I will never be
           be able to touch you again."

























































­



.

say numbers the little white toothed
sliver of a grin
hair breathlessly tousled
about fingers stairs
(winding)
upwards constantly
tall moments of absolute singleness

into 4 hands
2 fingers inside
lips strictly around
to eat 2 lips
30 minutes of
ultra caressed
hyper scrupulous
tense heaving                      ;


say numbers
7,205 seconds
until reaches
the startling pinnacle
of über sensuous
gangling drugged
with blonde milk
suddenly supple
between, "my dear,"

count as to count
by more than 20
digits to feverishly
blunder through
hurried wanting
to crush,

( say numbers and speak not numbly
  of the nimble bumbling of thy pale
  fracas an earth will be born from
  within wishing will to will unworried
  a fraction cut beneath the navel by
  a tremendously incalculable urging
  to rush              

                                            )

oh little you,
much of glory
and downy dew,

do break the chasm:
darkness' fauld;
igniting passion
in cannies auld;

thy bitter petals
coalesced o' fear
that sting as nettle
when hand is near:

release as doe,
thy urgent bride–
to flowers shew;
in crimson dyed.