the little dots,
the little dots,
the clever tasks
of hit-me-nots,

the flavor chase
of over-cradle tones,


      the rounded bore,
the tasted lore,
the keenest sweet
of evenscore,

the purgey smile
of freshly-rattled bones,


      will leave us here,
with blanketsmear,
the slowest breath
of hold-me-dear,

though room reverbed
with slender, ghosted moans.


      the little dots
of eyelid knots
will crest and lumber
sandy cots,

we roll the night
like sunny,

              bleaching,

                                  stones.