11 Октябрь 2003 ~ 0 Comments

flesh

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..


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