Author Information
Syrup
Folder:
Poems 2010 Industrial strength orgasms sell hotcakes,
but my heartstrings refused to be plucked unless you
immerse them in just a tad more syrup.
Salt plus wound equals
Sunday morning crucification while the
young still fall out of random beds and
over ideals you felt the
urge to surgically implant
before they were old enough to
deny your touch.
