your mouth is nice.

it spills

(deepeasy)

over the evening

and feels as

moonjerked nightjabbed

with wide dust of

warm fingers.


its curt;
its cut

of sunspear

drinksleeping

and magic hurt

pulls over kiss

pushes through

starsabled and winged

dreaming of nightfist.


it does the moon thing
and curls with
bright rushes
of lip.

its splendor is cool mute
and filled with
lavender.

c'est;
c'est saison;
c'est saison du veux.

and where it sleeps,
my mouth sleeps too.