the dark thing that you are inside:

                
                    i love it


that it is
salt thin
blood wonderful
to press apart

as like to press apart
the darling stocks
of naked flowers


                    And,

it is like
it likes to be
hushed
handled
flush

within hand
to uncurl
the little strange song
of its **** throat

(and i love it
its quiet
and small intensity

burning 'gainst palm
the enormously delicate flicker
of its rough flame)

my dear
(and i love you that)
you are
(inside)
dark

horrible to touch
and painful

to release,

        .

  ,

        .


                ,



        .