And s(h)e lost a breath from loving not quite either too little or late but wanting to pant at the edge of love's seat. she's a feat and twice over the ringing pulley.
Not a second too a crescent moon means loving. Aware of air. Somber on the feet? Not so a light patter over the delicacies of age.
and she? she's a mother with the fierce of its valor? perhaps homophones and honour are the pallor tricks of its prepositional disunity where falling apart busting through molecules of the multitudinous resurrections makes it s case
Up the ElevAtor doWn the StairS
and is your body love or a djinn a judgement to or against time. The falcon no the hawk on the river Friday afternoon
came looming along hovering down over the water and the dark grey heaviness of weight
Jill's got a boot in her tender heart's tip and it won't flip to day and night.
Long to the lover's moan. A moat for pulling boats and other refugees on the smooth space of the allegory transomed over window and
ignaceous crust and mirroring crap shoots out the hidden aperture of this modest castle's longing.
Posted by C Duffy at 6/21/2015