(no subject)

[dadadetuske]

 you are foraged inside of these woods
my step-child, whose brethren 
acts not as wild as you

slipping through your toes
a leaved blanket

each ore you bare;
a yoke

round (of) my shoulders
descending my spine
what a sweet turpentine 
you pour

graven and blank
those midnight possessions do swallow you
but they enlighten you, too

like an ominous captain, my palms grieve
for what you can not bereave unto me

forcing entry by the comic book caption

render her sweetly, 
and she'll never leave