The birch’s white bark’s lines
Grow larger in the growing time
But darker when the leaves all go
And limbs are foreground for the snow.
Your tongue shaped air that passed your lips,
And tastes the air that enters in, in sips.
I wish my pen could let my words all go
And lick you, now, from tongue to toe.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:48 PM UTC
The birch’s white bark’s lines
Grow larger in the growing time
But darker when the leaves all go
And limbs are foreground for the snow.
Your tongue shaped air that passed your lips,
And tastes the air that enters in, in sips.
I wish my pen could let my words all go
And lick you, now, from tongue to toe.
(c) 5/5/2017
