by April 26, 2022 0 comments

The white puppy playing around me
dancing, its tail wagging

The spiderlings
from a thousand eggs

The flames licking at the edges
of poems
to ashes

The water not hot enough
The lime too much
Both made sweet by love

Haunted by profane loves
lips and breasts unslaked, tasted, ditched

of ghosts and geishas
in the pell-mell of order that is rust

Blow off the dust, they live,
some even gleam.

editors note:

Some so bright, gotta wear shades. – mh clay

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