Dipped in the smell of your fringes
Logging fire-woods that runs blood through them
Daintily inching to the curves within
I have felt how pleasure caps in
I have now an extra lung to breathe
And a brush to dab in me
I have songs beaded for a dress that I wear
With no stitches but fair flowing skin
Life now resolved to undo laces
That long tied the gift intact
A gift that fuses in red and white
A gift that melts under the heat of his pulses
But soon shall this geometry distemper
The sun might seek another land to burn
But the bones of moon shall suffice
my teeth
and writhing tongue for a smoke of –marrow!
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