when feels driven by some impulsed curing
of day into swift clumsy night i

am flung by silence

into the only mystery of love a spangle
tinly which ekes from splendor
slowly tumbling over end over
between the ******* of thing girls


           A finger of light

(cooing)i


                      a breath shake



                                       from



lips hotly tight in coiled something
furstroked and lurid with my lips
part (destroying)


and bruise into white

a fist of painful.      

                                    Uncurling