2wo deep thighs of night
hold in their crest
my mouth to instantly linger
less than to leave
only

of lust which
to taste
i

(healthless droll and constantly)

am my lips
between secret folds
of darkness
hung with

a crisp shingle
of Spring light
(whom Shakespeare
might said, "A
star danced,
and under that wuz I born.")

tasting as to taste what flavor that
what tastes like sea on scorch'd flat.