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PK Wakefield
Poems
May 2014
Untitled
such hands as amongst
what drowsy bolts
of Summer
--i can recall
them hands
as brittle soft
as tough easy drunk
uncoiling so firmly
their thighs a flower between broke.
(a bright naked flower a dull wilting flower)
it snapped 19 at the little lake of its;
there was a gorgeous sound
and you and i
and all the ******
nights, dayless
splangling hung
furiously through
that tiny filament
of your hips the very small death of clean.
Written by
PK Wakefield
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