Dangling lazy their wet thumping legs,
my tongue bit that blanket pulled from me,

off with my clothing, your eyes hid nothing
happily, here after, in drinking;

Olives dream of the Sun
Once that held wumpa
To be a hole,
And in these last years I’ve
Held back biting at any one,  

I missed being Inside you;
or spelling you, and your howls.