Climb Up My Genitals; Put On My Coat
Isn’t is but an ice-clod,
Is but a jaw in the law of lost shuts.
What we lightly did, love,
We still did. And just the thought of it. Oh
I ebb harder in her pans and softer on her pots.
I guess all the buds because of her
Get lost. Love :pve dddd. <u,
My gulping lens of sense is bent and gone,
A trifling itch once told me so.
I shut its odd, or did, or might as well.
I loved. Honestly. I did.
Each in each, and out I came, hence two.
It’s still funny, though. Retrieving
Babe-like breaths and downing
Them. Downtown whiskeydicks, lawyers,
Laymen once pleasing me, now up and leaving me.
Yesterday, a last latter day saint knocked
On my door. He thought
An alacrity might change my pose.
Sense selfhood, he said, lizard, rose.