words are a lost batallion, twisting in a paper bag, forgotton ringlets, couplets and thesis papers.

mandolin harpsichord washboard blues, shiver temptress and promises.

a muse is nothing but a rotton. bone breaks and shredded romance.

somewhere they sit, remember last nights dreams, on the edge of winter all i remember are libraries , their grey thick windowpanes slick with moisture..promises of a free lunch and a nap later frought with memories.

he came rastifari dreams

she came segram seven apologies.

he came stolen crumbling headstones and vampire bites.

she came greenhouse slumber and breasts of clouds.

he came hearsay and long blond contemplation.

she came go go dancer leg sprain.

he came upstairs erogenous zones.

she came aquarium danger games.

he came quite sublimation.

she came rock and roll thighs .

he came a night of falling stars.

she came saxaphone sultry fandome.

he came chairtop recitation.

she came torn tights and leather handbag.

he came eyes closed and murmering.

she came car windows fogged and dreamy.

he came cursing and violent.

she came whimper and heartache.

he came

she came red wine and pink panties.

he came razorblades and merlot.

she came pot smoke and ozzy.

a muse is nothing. a cracked paint chip. a flake of skin.

i withold my happier then. i withhold my desire for rain.

with them.

with a blow to my heart.

i withdraw my troops.