We’re
old fashioned, a morning hangover, to court advantage.
I
touch for arms, to feel for hairs, a nose for mane. We love
so
faintly, a pair of wolves, a heart of hives. We cut a ribbon,
for
swollen nicks, to bruise a womb. Oh for nights, the first
to
kiss, to suffer heat waves. Its evening blues, and trite
clichés,
to plan a call. You speak for gems, the latest Vogue,
and
filled for colors. I’m deep a flame, to see for shifts, an
angle
turned gray; for city legs, and necklace necks, to flush
a
soul. We perish for grand, to rise for sullen, sipping cognac.
I
see for thoughts, a beige contour, a new motif; and love is
wine,
a knot of pearls, to win come favor. We walk for
mental,
to channel for teal, to bind with yogis; for earth to
mystics,
and heavenly jeers, to peer through countries. The
voice
of hearts, to kiln a flame, adrift through sparks. I hear
for
moments, a martini dry, to feel you sip. Its nape a kiss, a
thigh
to grip, and fey to shift; for ship to sea, an ocean vast, to
paint
a whisper. We stir for pudding, and dough to cook, to
pluck
a vine; and love is life, a crevice deep, to see you smile.
