who am i
when orange rocks
make orange sandmelt
(and i just thought creamsicle but meant)
into glass
the desert would piss milk
all over if only you could find
the urethra
but
wanderingsickness
i had a fondness for chasing if
when i tired i'd be a dove
i am tired
i am a manaching rock
chasing teeth immured in the wide
black skymouth
awake shedding a skin thick
layered honeycum
you read we can't die
from not pissing when we die
we all piss
maybe just
little drops
No comments:
Post a Comment