November 21, 2013 § Leave a comment
Under the mag tree waiting
Neither it-not the tree-or the thought of it is sufficient
Satire weekly dragging round the mountain
After this I’ll know to be so thorough through the throngs of my tomorrows, but
Tonight is long.
I don’t want to give this, anything.
Sufferings extended and stiff like
Fillings from the cake lodged tween’ our teeth as
I tongued it all incessantly like I tongued this union we called love.
Easy-edging in is the sunrise.
Day approaches, and alas, it’s time for bed.