many parts burnt
warm patches
of soft living problem
the food of all biting flies
the smelt leviathan
hey dog
how are your brains
i hear you cry
you look 12
you've been through many seasons
of trying to get pregnant
don't let me stop you
from romp and loud talk
not my place
my imagination
is a dashboard of touching
and i can't make anything
less than decades practiced
happen
No comments:
Post a Comment