without a singular hesitant droplet i briefly stole
absolutely a thrush ungulping soft little ****** of phonetic
laughing caressing the dew preeminently dangling of
youthful sprigs and ferns playfully tugging my hands
dumbly morsels of fleshed bone that which are my first language
and winter
   winter is my first language
i burp it strongly oral
and it gods like the sun ****** cool the immaculate silence just afore
it peaketh about the limber mountain skulking drunken
snow on it's capped and permanent scalp of freezing crystalline beauty
  and she is my second language
                she is tawny
an ember singing ecstatically her moisture the habitual tumor
she graces and fans with her feathers
of long naked
tremors                     like a crosier of limp emphatic ***
to which tremble mostly also
and am surely fated to still unfinite in her *****
of rapid illucidity
a symptom of her pale perfect cheeks
as they (with light pink bulbs) press on mine
LIPS
         between they    


                                    :                     Writhing


!       !                                         !                           ?