| With your bristles, yr hair,
And hands like hammers, The smile after The big-eyed smothering deed, Turning around the passage. The real wanting Of someone not On the canvas. You don’t show your Teeth, your thorns. Instead You show your thighs, Lift up your skirt, just a bit To give us your Landscape of nerves And rocks, the reptile In your echoing laughter. |
| aa |
| wdek |
