Tuesday, January 6, 2009

touching the wet hair of God

returning to the place where
we fucked with furtive grace

a mimic along the sheets
that here might be quivers

turn and give me whiskey
from weep rich lips

your sudden mouth
that masks uncommon shudders

this slipping at dawn

apotheosis

2 comments:

  1. @Matt D: whoa, your digging in the archives. I forgot about this one. Thanks for the read.

    ReplyDelete

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