23 January 2015
Let us tend to the festival of flesh,
the long lines that dip through
to make our angles.
The howling flash of fruit-rind lips
before we utter our language;
let us harvest the hours of each other's kiss,
keeping time by the hungry tongue.
the long lines that dip through
to make our angles.
The howling flash of fruit-rind lips
before we utter our language;
let us harvest the hours of each other's kiss,
keeping time by the hungry tongue.