the isle of cut-throat
key janglers, the ones with 20s crumpled in their *******
and stale smoke as the aftertaste

i will wrangle your body
for an oil pastel set
so **** me drier than the Moab
and smear the colors around like a soft serve

chocolate and peaches

i watch rugged pirates like the deep colors
of winter
black and tarnished
they sail off with
barrels of slick dreams and human liquid fantasies
getting tipsy off my honey sweet whiskey

whisk me away

the horizon leaks, the color crawls like
gold drool
dripping of a godly
dog