by on August 27, 2014 :: 0 comments

We enjoyed
the symmetry of walks
and peeled sex
without caring
what does damnation
exactly mean.
A fucking phone call
changed the gravitational field
of her facial nuances
like the election manifesto
of a ruling party.
Wrapping up the mornings
in old newspapers
and putting them
into our trousers’ pockets
we sucked South Avenue
grabbing with our fingers
until the juice of crocus petals
drips intricately from its twig.

editors note:

Love’s juices flow like infatuation with a flower. – mh

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