March 25, 2007


warms you doesn't it,
nerves tingling
places you can't
lies stretch
so far up.

venom sweet
tip of tongue
strychnine in
a muffin tin,
perfect desert
crumbs line
your mouth like
dimestore lipstick.

bake me a cake
just as fast as you can
cool it on the window sil
before the sun licks
the frosted foothills.

sudden exposure,
your finest creases
are still etched
in the linen that slips away.