Tuesday, September 15, 2015



two bucks fought once, broke
the tip i hold in my hands
of antler. teasels grow flimsy,
now its end of the season, but i
dont discount the cream comes
from is yellow core, sure as sun
breaks conversation into
fragments of colors spread across
her dress. kites in the sky, heavy
of upper lip, i press down, we go
all the way in the grass.

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