We fired our hair with gasoline...
the oozing crude with what we dyed
our lips closing over; pumped
between two tongues. Dandelions
and lollipops leaving behind their
stains on pants from dripping
drool. I cut the grass and divide
between it you and me; bees' armies
woolgathering ancient instinct like
pollen on legs. I eat my brush and
tailor my hair with honeycomb.
Let destiny for our combined dust
pile up in Hour-Glass jars... for
time runs out on the desert isle of
your singular eye.
[17:00|10.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter
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