always nevering
she won't
will
like
winter('s) spring

little flakes
of nos
on vermilion
petals

the skin of yes
was never touched
by her lasciviousssss
tongue

this world

does it see the feel need
(as a child does



                                         )flowers?


and does it see them?
the stems by coloures eloquent
bobbling tiny thousands

each a poem silked in light
each a vast array of smell


and does it feel them?
the curving hollow
of rushing soft

to gather in a ****** plume
the tease and romp of hue


and does it need them?
the sigh and quake of fragile dying
the least living
the most loving

and does this world
(as a child does

a flower )?

and does it?



























and does it?

2day glass
through heaped sunlight
dusty
accumulates a second
when fair meticulous
paws stir
                (claw and whisker)
bunch and unbunching
deftly
shatter lilting
minutest bobbles

I know I tell you this all the time, but I love you so much. I'm so unbelievably thankful to have you in my life. You are the most perfect woman I have ever met.

I know you are sleeping right now, and I know it's the most beautiful thing on this earth, because I have watched you sleep, curled up next to me. The neat calmness of your face, the way your hair falls across your cheek–I love it, I love it so much.

I want to be prefect for you. I want to make you happy and fill every moment of your life with joy.

I feel stupid. These words just aren't what I want them to be. I wish I could truly tell you how much I care about you, but I just can't seem to put it the right way.

You are always within me. You are within my blood and soul. You are within every pulse of my heart, every lash of sunlight, every strain of laughter that passes from my lips.

I'm going to do my best to love you and treat you with the care and respect that you deserve. I know I'm not perfect, but please know that I am trying to be better.

I wish I could kiss you. I wish I was laying next to you tonight. I wish I could kiss your brow, and nuzzle you with my nose. I wish I could lay my hand across your skin and feel the heat of it pour through my skin.

Sleep softly and soundly, my love. I will think and dream of you tonight.

I hope you read this in the morning. I hope that some small amount of what I want to say comes through this to you.

I will think about you tomorrow while I'm at work. I will imagine the feeling of your hand in mine. I will remember the warm smell of your chest. I will think of you and love you, and my love will guide me to work hard and honestly. To do what ever I need to do to make our life as good as it can be.

I love you so much. Sleep well. I can't wait to see you again.

injust(ladies

,so wet ladies,

summer you are almost naked

and dance beneath feat

the cherry knives o’ you

cut sweetly in me

and every hot root

is such deeply splayed

thighs i marvel into

them and s

                 i

              g

                    h

how so RED petals
you so rose you so
stemmed unthorned
pricking sturdy moisture

i can't help from you
the distillation of an
instant released
incredibly
(and i can't not huddle my mouth
eternally in your cavern over
me the very small gape
of your sugar                                    )

where i am muscles more
and nerves better
bones completely
shouting (i love you when you sit next to the sun and it tires in the impossible effort of your skin
                  its entire and complete self in one shining gulp it dies behind a capped white mountain
                  and i make the Night jealous with my and my running chaff furiously smarting on your
                  rain stabbed 2 times with our bodies in its sudden hands all over us and we gallop, panting
         ,        into the ***** of my car in the parking lot of the park where we just made love under a tree
                  and you smell like every second of pleasure the earth has tasted made skinny hips and legs
                  and arms and shoulders and thighs. my scar; i,d cut you into me again and again and again
a
n
d      

again
                  and again
                                         and ,
                                                  '
                                               ,
                                                     '      ,
                                             '
                                                      '              '
                                        .
                                                           ,
                              .                             '                    ,

,
                                                   '                                                           .

i could
)not
Thinking


some formless(ness
eroding







                   that

would , maybe someone , inform me as to why
fleeced in morning's fiercely nimble glow
a flower might, undead, livid, 'gainst the neat
stomach of sky crackle stunningly minute
yellow
                  and roaring

                                             with intense fragility

be right next to my hip and with the 2 red, and a black, dots
of an ant scurrying across the span of a barely petal;gleaming
deliriously apt with colour)smile, a wan, nolips grin and
that that it might be Spring in a whole bright day clothed
in a seamless cowl of grey; the general blade of sky might,
like a leaf of grass, leap from heaven into my chest

               staggers
          ;
tumbling into domineering noon) and that I: ridiculously living, might
witness such an instant incredibly perfect. Dying
                                                                                        ?

kiss me
with
those
bleeding lips

it's was summer last night
unfolding silver cold pinpricks
       who's wings yawn incredibly
from the tender bruise of moonlight where we
were two 2's
basking indelibly straight lanky souls

           and we touched

Skin, the
girl you're
in. sleepsso

furiously amongst
the roots of chaste flowers

i twould
(to loose by touches febrile)
the flock; your gabled arch

unroost so mightily
tempests even would swoon

(and sodden every desert parched)

i want you really

             really

a shiver and totally
beneath tremble and
quivering bruised or
pristine but all laced
in spit and **** A
where my love fist can
bed softly blooming
at your unfurred palette's
twain crawling

           with

up your thighs a dark
smudge like shaped a
bear paw right next to
your knee laminated
by eager oral's lewd
serpent

A where
spreads the vast treat
of your hips a garden
in which poems fail
always ever to match
struck instantly aflame

it's hard the word i'm sorry and
the clouds today
are a bit
cut of light
draping easily with so("

     i,m sorry,,

the way i've notbeen
and haven't said)

the way i love you the way i love you the way i love you. i love

and the roughness of cotton,
the blithe softly flow,
snow and petal broken;

a stream instantly chaste
between the thighs of mountains
(your coming mouth
and how many times have i remembered
the hard droll moment of your intense clovers
parting through a sea of dark leaves
the slenderest gap of life to emit
its thrilling nonsense a gown of roses?)?

i do not or have wondered
on the cutting into the hillsides roads
when driving in Summer
and the sprightly children of dandelions
tumble daftly serene

And want to **** my timid notion
amongst the thorn'd stems of your garden
(where burying is easy
and death never came from the ground
and only life was grass, and flowers, and kissing

forever

                )))(

how like stars, innumerably beautiful, do girls crowd her face(the earth)whose cheeks, like those infinite pretty sparks, swell with the nubile quavering light o' ladies perfumed in youth; which cling to my eyes and soul like those fierce twinklers to the deep quiver of night.

make for me a glimmering speck
in the folds of scarlet chambers bruised beating
capillaries splitting puddles of purple
writ on its sleeves; i it seems (and strangely iam)
oddly are. more different is the cool love of sun
for earth. his wife. whom he does pleasure every day
a tongue of infinite light wrapping her every
curve and sin. s
                           o
to is this how i shall love your delicate mechanism, every cog
placed lovingly in balance to bound deftly upon my eyes inall
your correctness; you piece of lightening affront death with
the majesty of tremoring *******. hot tingling fuzz shocking
my fingers: you are neatly piled blooms of ancient fruit
who doth etherise my sanity with the pushings of your sinew

her quiet
was so:
painted
every sound
obscene
(slumbering
thusly)

what likes most i                              ?
the skinny river rolling 'round my hips
so strength filled fingers grasping grips
a clear concise conscious conscience "no"ed
ephemeral femoral pounding blood stream
fluster me a disease and cure the agile licks
eroding the
                         su
                               d




                                           d
                                                   e

                    n


plummet into the a cool abyss drenching colossal shade pool
waiting at the oral conclusion of a tiny damp sliver in the quick of my soul

            prickle me blushing stream. i'll caress the veins waiting for
                the stammer of my hands. and i'll pluck your spine to fill
               all
            the
                  effortless
        nothing

there is no living which is not dying

let me tell you what i love
i love the firmest new heat
of Spring's body leaping
totally March with the gushed
remnant of Winter's nowless
snowed figure. i love taking
the rough cherry of life between
my lips and i shove my tongue
forking the swollen damsel
of its prime juice until bustles
the marvelous uncouth sticky
sweetness over my lips coils
her lips and every sense of
mine cooly explodes in the
dapper shade of apple trees
.

her skin was
like mine
(only with a
different;sameness

making her Perfect: ugly)
so choosing
that:

i thought light was
yet it
heavy/dark

weighs
on crystal thoughts. from which no light escape

-s

as if to seems by (hung the little world

          the eyes noose

                                   ). Perhaps or

the soul more?

the could be hands loose
,the pinkset ear, whorl'd?

(between who where is who
makes or unmakes the rain)?

hands and unhands alike
tremble to fill:
the crooked barrel
o' flower's stemm'd pain.

(the ridiculous i.

                                the absurd you.)

like the quiet depths of oceans untold truths riot 'neath the rouge cheeks littered city streets. but never said they fester ready blisters of ugly splinter grins. bloated granite corpse hide the sallow nicks by the bay to drink the water sick rotten wood collapsing. it heaves a sigh of tired ****** to wet the pavement with stiletto moisture. corrode merry emerald city, you wear it well.

let me just stumbling through finite health and glib, sturdy, night gather you up into immortal fleck of dying perfect girl(whose hair, swiftly annihilators, many short and wonderful dark, smells like living, balmy, and dirt)like the moon, drawn exactly round against the nape of common onyx heaven. And, i, carefully stupid
shall impart

                                            deliberate

                                  clumsy

                                                               ­    boylips

"It's bad for you." He said.

"I know it's bad," she replied, "but I want to do it anyway."

i think i am some dust briefly flush with life who grates every moment by passing grains of limpid time and unbecomes in sheafs of days

night, when freezingly encounters my cheeks, some slightness rouges them
like roughed almost cheeks
like when you lay a hurting kiss upon them by the languorous hammer of

thy paleset palm. like, i do, how kindly unkind stinging your touch deftly
embraces their(mycheecks)
puffed unrude metal. and it blisters with the painful bud of cherry wreak

hey and a big straight
ungoded in my stocky amber chest
   and caved open my super massive collapsing
      singing vermilion crooked
                vent
          that busts suddenly gradual voices
of ancient fresh lungs that i know i only know i don't knowiknowiknowIdon't
      and it's not that i won't
and surly
these manacles of flesh
                         and bones
and sinewed cords
                they scarf my soul and giggle sharply rapid
      imposing
stony breaking surf
                                       a largest grunt
        the universe said in me
                            and or i said back
                                                                        YES

miles away(go)
by

clicktrain by

     clacktrain or

bybusby or

        car


miles away(go)
where between
a city of roses grows

One thornless rose)its
stemwhich
thoughthornless
hurts to feel fingers

do the dead know a thing i know they do
they know how nice nothing feels in a pile
of earth beneath sleeping in pine or up in
the air ash mingling with pollen on a
svelte summer eve sick with young hearts
hungry to **** into each other sublime
homely darling eyes with no thoughts of
what might come after they lay up into
infinite dreamless eaves their sore mouths
(but the dead know they know how nice
nothing feels like a luckier to be alive feeling
they don't know a thing (but I know they do))

1SummersLastAgoI
                                  t
                                  snapped
                                               o
                                               pen
                                               o
                                               ut
                                               t
                                  deldnur         st o
                            the                   e          f
               vaulted          r                            beautifully
      eaves              o                                                        sallow
      o                f                                                                        throats
      f         a                                                                                   thatched
                                                                                                          with
                                                                                                              rushing
     s
       k
          e
              ins of ROSES neatly dull in piles of singing crimson almost small o
                                                                                                                                  r
                                                                                                                             o
                                                                                                                         ffseting
     asymmetrical stemless bulbs adorned with ruby petals
dew damped with shining shimmering goblets of the dawns ******
jewels crackling sternly perfect glitters on the robes of light the roses dumbly
wear on howling green silence. that is that it was most quiet (and greenly freckled reckless hours) those mornings when i would rise and sup upon the supple lash of freshly murdered night.
                                                                  ;
                                                                   ' ,
                                                                , '
                                                                    '
                                                                      ,
                                                            ,


                                                                   '

kiss fingers hotly each
march wise
silked in
the fair health of autumn dying

(dying autumn lives so
dying and it hotly
body decays in petals
of orange and brown) up

leans the quick back of
and a mountain suddenly

where thickly flits a doe

between trees dying
she.

the and

a little silently the wind comes

and the earth comes

and the stars come

and the moon comes between them
a soft as curvingly round like *******

stands a wide and flat unmoving
except for a cow or 3 field
below the diminutive inch
of a hill wearing me like a ******

rests laden in frost soil
doesn't say a thing and my
hand passes through the
distilled utterance of my

lungs a drooping crystal ******

keep these hands alive in your hands; that they walk and breathe; that their skin becomes downy in the spring, and from them spears love-roots of dark grass, filling over the hills and meeting with the excellent night their shining bodies.

live, love and smell the rich perfume of your lovers hips; meet and again touch with them your cheeks, and delight in them–the coil of their heap.

they are with your body, and to touch another's is a great privilege–and i know it.

wander and know the nape of them; laugh and extend your blood into their own.

invite their inspirations into your own breast, and make with it one respiration.

they are cool and wonderful between the ears; they are soft laughter and stupid giggling; they are the arcuate sleep of a rose thorn–deeply within your skin.

know and love them.

hold not back your laughter, nor praise, nor joy in their clutch.

touch, ramble, delight in the visceral perfusion of their mouth and kiss.

coldly biting beautifully night your neat painful skin when with my lip parted softest child meets makes a rapid tinly uncoiling crystal nimbus who catches in the amber poolsof your still naked body's streets

o to speak
o to speak and sing
o to speak and sing aloft
o to speak and sing aloft a moment
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night and dreaming
o to speak and sing aloft a moment hung in night and dreaming (mysterious sublime evil)

and to kiss every flower's little fist

scent sweet
scent sour

completely of petals clefted and parting

clefted and parting emits
to wreaking dawn a babe

a babe of green and many
green and many and soft

soft and many and green (a babe)

a babe mysterious
a babe sublime
a babe evil

(SPRING)

what avarice it doth crAVe so greatly in the odor of gold so a flavor is guilded our minds and we make our arms for it so we may hold more, i loved the dawn. gold enough for




                                                                        






                                 i

are you quickness?and muscles sore from last night
when we met we inside blue softly metal(wheels adorned
and i cupped your cropped short raven finger tousled
pulling your excellent blossoming eternal face to my
finite ugly wilting face and we ate, from each furious
clasp, fruit more sweet

from deepest rivers you
surging flowers OPEN

              and
                                   A
                                         scar newly
                                         adorns you
                                         beating stillness
                                         immeasurably
                                         in darkness a
                                         light first meekly
                                         begins
                                                         rolling
                                                                        its colours
                                                                                              violently
                                                                                                               beating
                                                                                                                              so
                                                                                                                                        hot
                                                                                                                                                all
                                                                                                                                                         quickness
murdered slowly a plume of bird's
throats fat with music wings splendorous
over bodies rapt in loving fire
a song
            of
                 hearts
                              tattooed
                                              on my arms
                                                                     you note
                                                                                      (in me played
) deepest and fluttering your eyelids
magic springs eternal voluptuous panting
tigers skin an angel in
                                       Sweat
                                                   completely
                                                                        my razor
                                                                                            keenly
                                                                                                          defies
                                                                                                                       a mountain
                                                                                                                                             blade
                            stupidly
                                              i'm stabbed thee with
                                               you
                                                strongly flavored
                                                 lush garden
                                                  of rivers
                                                     deeply flowers surging out my mouth
                                                       a gallon of petals endlessly

.                                                                ­                           B
                                                               ­                     e
                                          ­                                              n
                                                                ­       t                   e
                                                                           h                   a
                                                               ­           
                 creepness
                                                       ­                                                        S
                                                               ­                                 p
                              ­                                                                 ­     r
                                                          ­                             g               i
                                                               ­                             s          
                        ­                                                                 ­                            and boughs S
                                                               ­                                                                 ­                                d
                               ­                                                                 ­                                     p                  a
                                            ­                                                                 ­                                       e
                        ­                                                                 ­                                                    r      
                           bony fingers deeply
                           into richness darkly
                           they clamor down
                           into softness and
                           they get to you sleeping
                           into you they get creeping
                           and they crawl into your
                           eyes and ears

sprigs
                  and

                               boughs
                                                          ­           beneath creepness
                                                                ­                  do

my blood

if

put

your in
veins
your

will pump
for me?

you

& and of this swooping          twilight
i might say it
is it.                           one large enormity
  ,        small and tumbling
deftly clumsy                             and reposed
                          quicklyquietly
in succulent folds of mauve silence

'pon                                           the imminenthills

outside my window

wHat   I          love         most :

i s  the delicate dissection o
f my oppositions to the manifestations
o
        f her *** heaps. pleasantly under. and calmly.

the 1st blushing of the electric fuzz mound. (and flush)
stroke bashfully the grandest affront to death.
         and                                

beneath my fingers is your course love stroke fur
                                                                            guiding the
                                                                     quick machinations
meshed precisely.

                                  i         am            nothing
             without you. and hideously.

Into with,
my ***** of sated flesh(
your smallest mossy soil...

            I AM


DEepLy,  raw
a rough new pinkness
tingling steady burstsinthegrosspavillion
,of thy beat,
a fresh hot                


                                       noise

O creators
  O makers(O ye, who by hands deftest,
    hew the earth with thy hearts
      extrapolated)thou art blessed

           (and a blessing)

for by the imperfect notions of you
more perfect becomes me

             (in me gathers
              the coalesced
              intensity of
              your exact
              infinite stuff)and
                                             i
                                             'm thick with your heady music
                                             which bursts out my body
                                             and i'm flung into burning
                                             indomitable human fire
                                                  (and i become
                                                   like gargantuan
                                                   sleeping flowers(whole rivers of them)i become the
                                                   hot sigil of the human singing
                                                   *****)with drunk beautiful darkness
                                                   i sing across the folding eternal
                                                   abyss and with merriest volition
                                                   i add the coarse sound of my fracas
                                                   to the body of the electric people
                                                   chorus
                                                                 (the makers
                                                                                        and the creators
                                                                                                                      who by pleasing distinct
                                                                                                                      colorful blades scar
                                                                                                                      me wonderfully
                                                                                                                                                  )

it added useless
a feminine gaunt whisper
dull neckup bobble roaring

           coherent reds

of lean noodles gorgeous
The longest stupid
from her
                     blithe house

what hands
these are

(are these

hands

) ?

what hands are these?

(on tainted wrists
dripping hot melodies
over her pallid shell;
i put my lips to its
understanding but
the

flavor: lick lick lick lap

like

i

do

)

thus

.






























"What have you been doing these days?"



"Trying to become myself."






























.

"oh hello"whose shoulders are easy darling *****
sloping"hey"
                      down
                                "what are you doing Saturday?"

way into ******* neatish comely pristine

"I'm"deftlywonderfulslender"going"bycalvessupple

"to a show. you?"


"probably nothing."

how do i explain this?
well, trying, i say
this: it is hard not to let my inner self  breach the skin of my outer self

thus revealing some of those things i would rather not show

in tumbling eve
a city sweats
small vociferous
women springing
short skirts playfully
twiddling between
breaths(i run smoothly
the raw colours of
the quickly closing day
being stockinged in
blackness thickly
) hard and dull fire sprouting from my lungs