Jul 2010
Deep grit.
Fine, fine tacks.
Over-heated night.
My face, the light.
The glass points at me.
Musk and moonflowers.
I throb to the beat
Of a glycerol heat
That keeps coming
And going and coming.
Fine, fine tacks.
Over-heated night.
My face, the light.
The glass points at me.
Musk and moonflowers.
I throb to the beat
Of a glycerol heat
That keeps coming
And going and coming.
© Cody Edwards 2010
