Tuesday, November 1, 2016

parcel tongue

Forge my stunted signature
with a flick of your tongue.
My mind lies across the tracks.

Soap dispenses foam
of foreign office,
sudsy, untranslatable motes.

Dare to lick derelict
palm, attract soiree
of sorbet parade.

Catch me, I'm fawning.
Lust after swamp,
stuck in consumption.


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