Outgrowths As They Crop

Breeze and breath now intertwined.

Tell me what on which you wish to dine...

Her hair being such a seductive desert

I munch on between sacred grooming

of the foliage, and odd

outgrowths that erupt...

Out here, amongst the broken earth

that calls us...

The void dispels such unmitigated

terms...

Tonight, like it or not, I'm bound

to it,

and in kind,

I follow a certain set of rules...

To freeze and then nonchalantly French the cuticles

as if nothing has or will happened...

Breeze and breath

are a sort of a theft,

to come and to go as they please...

Tonight I seize them by their tired unraveling

bed-clothes,

and meet you naked in the blessedness that has

made itself known.

©

15/31/19