the rods & combs in his eyes
Nina sits in a slip of fullness
her passion tender & florescent hooded
(they are an absolute space waltz
of sometimes door-pressed lip slams)
please turn down your robot music
only if you turn off your
hypo static noise &
keep your commentary fingers
mummified with clear
could you put on your scant hair blow
ok
but only because you are the shuttling ocean
cut over the part
I love you and become more over time
***
No comments:
Post a Comment