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burnunit“Where the lovers are, I hid, my two figures also collapsed just so, their divided minds seeking their one, only in dark streets, without all these stars."
How did I find her amid these entanglements? Until we saw—sang, really— the slow stepping flex of wings and children, their hands in hers.
Teach me a bloody lesson swept under by the eager voice, by the guise of her vast and terrible thighs.
“Teach me a bloody lesson.”
O! My eyes my toward the other’s arms and open mouth. I gawked shamefully outstretched and pawed again in spite of the sunrise!
They came together, a river of heads uprooted, moon-caught and swirling in a storm of rising leaves. It all came undone, ripened by hope, sweet with secret rendezvous, multicolored and done up with the odor, the blaze of their autumn. We poured out, we hesitated, muttered to one another in the gaping space between seconds, between cities.
I slowly walked into each unknowable bound second, the flame-licked other and the echoes of ripe leaves. Wrenched from me the breaths, the baroque thin gilding of brown upon my lungs, the smoke of sexual desire
We, black branches, every one, but full of hope, speared and lost behind each other with the best lies we could breathe and come up with in an hour.
I was left, slowly merged too with that other skin: too soft, fallen, overheated by each sweet sunlit dream.
I amid the undergrowth: my body wandered then, cat-like and fast, closed over made healthy and thin. A light pressing of gold upon the corners of my bed.
Together to the river, early under the limbs of the cottonwoods, the maples, brought by the moon, caught and swirling ripe starlight. Stopped short of the main street—
The concept of a universal sweetness at our nostrils, fleshy within the stars’ reach. Dance into the universal streets. “To will forth the dirt-packed ground, the musicless nations with every small gesture sing it, too. He allows me my lover's footprints Inside the mountain early work ends and the robins lie, tired of singing. Where bed melts, makes man hide, follow closely and want spring change. There’s a thorn in our streets a polished people of sharp music unclaimed sound out of the nations and you shall sing it beautiful, touched up to the echo of our future, that immortal rendezvous, each message from beyond. In turn, ripened beneath their unknowable breath, I slowly to walked bed, early to rise.
How did I find her amid these entanglements? Until we saw—sang, really— the slow stepping flex of wings and children, their hands in hers.
Teach me a bloody lesson swept under by the eager voice, by the guise of her vast and terrible thighs.
“Teach me a bloody lesson.”
O! My eyes my toward the other’s arms and open mouth. I gawked shamefully outstretched and pawed again in spite of the sunrise!
They came together, a river of heads uprooted, moon-caught and swirling in a storm of rising leaves. It all came undone, ripened by hope, sweet with secret rendezvous, multicolored and done up with the odor, the blaze of their autumn. We poured out, we hesitated, muttered to one another in the gaping space between seconds, between cities.
I slowly walked into each unknowable bound second, the flame-licked other and the echoes of ripe leaves. Wrenched from me the breaths, the baroque thin gilding of brown upon my lungs, the smoke of sexual desire
We, black branches, every one, but full of hope, speared and lost behind each other with the best lies we could breathe and come up with in an hour.
I was left, slowly merged too with that other skin: too soft, fallen, overheated by each sweet sunlit dream.
I amid the undergrowth: my body wandered then, cat-like and fast, closed over made healthy and thin. A light pressing of gold upon the corners of my bed.
Together to the river, early under the limbs of the cottonwoods, the maples, brought by the moon, caught and swirling ripe starlight. Stopped short of the main street—
The concept of a universal sweetness at our nostrils, fleshy within the stars’ reach. Dance into the universal streets. “To will forth the dirt-packed ground, the musicless nations with every small gesture sing it, too. He allows me my lover's footprints Inside the mountain early work ends and the robins lie, tired of singing. Where bed melts, makes man hide, follow closely and want spring change. There’s a thorn in our streets a polished people of sharp music unclaimed sound out of the nations and you shall sing it beautiful, touched up to the echo of our future, that immortal rendezvous, each message from beyond. In turn, ripened beneath their unknowable breath, I slowly to walked bed, early to rise.