Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Precarious Times

Your dangerous shape
tastes like pepper drink stinging
my tongue and changes
my heart, pushing me
farther than I'd go alone,
on my own power,
exposing my red red
blood to the heat of your lair.
You have woven bonds
of your scent, of your
eyes that flash a siren's light
and hold me swollen.

August 18, 2010 11:23 PM

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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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