you're like barely lightning
stumbling angelically of that frosty womb
dangerously you are flakes of minute cold
crumbing deftly cheeks pale as
sleep. who is a club of kind
fantasy or sometimes a plush terror
reckoned in pleasing symmetry.
i know only your valleys and your pastures
the breathless yawning landscape
my lips are hithering or withering
about to imbue with every effort
of my love your perfect vessel my ardor
in lumping crunches of delicate
kisses,    ,          ,               ,                           , , ,  .