PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We sit in the grass. Over time we lie low on a sample

of my cold mad land

My skies! Our fruit. Optional onset. The entire fabric

(self-ego) dissolved.

Tidal station wetlands, love hand finger cunt.

Moist around the eyes, upcast.

Tits, lips, custom emoticons, mind. The face of the

tongue in the little morning there.

Shy away from all the transnational, impetuous fingers