was outlining
the petals when
they began to
look like little labia -
l lips...
that spoke me out,
a lively whisper,
that keeps me in.
I roll around
my spongey tongue,
its clay -
dirt -
anyway; molded and
molding, mushrooms tickling my scalp,
sometimes feeling
the terror and the joy
to move (ahh)
by association
to the end.
No comments:
Post a Comment