space is a tomato between my eyes,
making crazed faces while he is
not cumming. initially in a space
between snow, where I would have
never found him, he is now
between my sheets; tripping balls.
because no less then five hours ago
I coaxed a small tab of paper under his
tongue, followed by myself. so that he could
be just like if for the day. just like the
wood from the trees and seeping water.
talking to ducks (but not really) being
charming little teeth grinders in the
deepest cracks of shithills Wildwoods.