flesh

by saetov on Октябрь 11, 2003

flash the flesh
of fresh fish
nobody notes-
nothing’s new
wake the waves
waiting for wales
ice the ivory eyes
i ain’t iron either
thinking the things
thrilling throats
recalling reminders
reloving relogging
stop. sorry, so sad
stinking slightly sly
maybe mutter madly
moments of moving mile
life in a lashing luff
too lame to leave love..